Nitpicking

They say you cannot
write poetry in prose.
But that is not really
the point of this
ramble. I am smiling
and I don't know why.
Maybe its the little
things that are
floating down from
the ceiling. Maybe
its the delusional
thoughts reawakening
again. Do I care?
Maybe.

Self-pity

it hurts.
the crippling
inaction.

they say pain
is life. how
wonderful.

hiding behind
saying nothing
is so helpful.

heroes

ohh beautiful lives.
are usually
inconsequential.
They wait to
be slain.