TBD TBC

What does it mean to be a part of Team Bad Decisions?

There. Are. No. Right. Decisions.

Every decision results in a worse result no matter what choice is made

Success is hanging from a string

Just when it brushes my fingertips

It’s nudged just a hair’s breadth away

It doesn’t matter. If. I. Leap.

It doesn’t matter. How. I. Try.

It doesn’t matter. When. I. Relax.

I drop

I fail

I break

Happiness is balanced on a pin

Just when I’ve found the balance

It shifts, the needle lodged within my heart

It doesn’t matter. If. I. Squeeze.

It doesn’t matter. If. I. Shift.

It doesn’t matter. If. I. Release.

I crack

I stick

I fall

Hopefully this clears it up

If not just watch

This is all on display

Just don’t watch to long or you’ll become a part of the team

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Forest of one

Demanding as a child,

I wait for each reply,

Constantly looking for validation,

Dreaming of the day,

You’ll never go away,

Pushing you away with every action.

Resplendent as a new day,

Someone new with whom to share,

Effervesce as the interests begin to rise

Sharing causing tingles of excitement,

Overflowing from me,

A flood of attention and desire

Unfurling like a bud blossoming,

All my truths spill out

Exposing my core

Rotten with the desperate need to fit in

The flies gather at the feast

A gluttony of spoiled ego

Drifting as if a leaf from a tree

Settling to the detritus below

Another friendship left to decay

Adding to the soil

Smothering each glimmer of hope

While building up the tree to stand alone

Crushing like the Earth on Atlas’s back

My need for attention builds up

Smothering any interest

Self destructive inclinations reinforcing what I know

I’m a burden, I’m overwhelming, I’m too much

I shouldn’t inflict me upon anyone

Moebius Trip

6 years to a 6 year old feels like forever,
6 years to a 60 year old goes by in a flash,
The longer life lasts, the shorter it feels.
The more time that’s passed, the shorter the reels.

A year in the corporate rat race flies by so quick.
A year within prison passes so slow in the thick.
Unfocused, experience passes through like oil through a sieve.
Time with no purpose,  the experience leaves but a residue.

A day for an addict is a string of flashes in the pan, a short snort, a quick nip.
The same day to a counselor, a stitched together quilt of recovery visits.
Filling the day seeking to fill an imagined hole.
Whether in one’s self or trying to help another feel whole.

That glorious moment of birth, first light, first breath, first scream.
The sweet second of death, last shudder, last gasp, last scene.
One closing the loop of the other, making partial complete.
Both a part of the same strip running from eyes alight to the last lids droop.