tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89421646344173948212023-07-17T23:52:22.706-05:00the Total Tossereverything you never wanted to know about everything you never wanted to know.phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-48943320381667827932019-12-01T17:19:00.001-06:002019-12-01T17:24:07.649-06:00The Anniversary of a Van Ride
Anniversary of a Van Ride
The morbid fascination in a destination.
One never recognised at its inception;
The perfection of my latent perception
Of my ‘best laid plans’ or my intentions.
The celebration of recollections, only
Serves toward my angry introspection.
Tears of frustration, mental retaliation;
Relation of situation to circumstance.
I’m phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-64712407308218021172018-10-27T18:47:00.000-05:002018-10-27T18:47:30.212-05:00~~~~~~~ XL ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ XL ~~~~~~~
I wanted to say something...
Anything...
I just didn’t have the strength.
I could speak a truth.
Or about truth and sadness,
Or of missing tiny comforts...
In another life, perhaps you...
You’d have made it about you.
You would, and it is...
But, it’s also not. It’s not!
I would have let you, though.
Because that would stillphoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-43116635593694583762016-04-13T16:22:00.001-05:002016-04-13T16:22:29.728-05:00Living in this new life...So much has changed in my little corner of the world. Really, it feels like I am living a while new life. There have definitely been some amazing things. There have been some terrible changes, too. My mother passed away horribly in November of 2014. We weren't the average mother-daughter unit but she was the only mom I had so it was still awful.
Earlier in 2014 my husband and I made the phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-18944422153252497692014-11-03T18:47:00.000-06:002014-11-03T18:54:40.065-06:00Oh, Torturous Creator
Oh, Torturous Creator
When did her shell become so hollow as this?
I wouldn't know her then; was barely thought.
I know her so well this day, albeit to wish not.
Taught me to wish not, seeds me to want not.
Gave not so I should not expect e'er receive.
She'd have me to be grateful of her sacrifice.
Gave her first born to a void, and avoidance.
Taughtphoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-45729111106469805142014-11-02T12:43:00.003-06:002014-11-02T12:44:00.354-06:00No SecondsNo Seconds
It is pitiful, and she is to be pitied if anything.
Meant for all things handled in second hand.
Second class in nature; a second class heart.
Seconds ticking away and leave no seconds.
It was always like this, only the sets change.
Always an afterthought, always all thats left.
Always second to inherit the scraps of a life.
Never phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-63937956603048019702014-10-30T19:53:00.002-05:002014-10-30T19:53:41.649-05:00Learns to Love a Silence
Learns to Love a Silence
Just doesn't get it, or can't, won't, wanting
But not wanting, its safer, but always empty.
Not empty enough it seems, as you are here.
I'm not in here though. Fell asleep long ago.
It's what I tell myself to make the days go by.
If not dead then too awake, too much to feel.
Want it but cannot allow, for their sakes, all or
Mine? &phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-13250832806525244202014-10-29T20:45:00.001-05:002014-10-29T20:47:05.819-05:00Science of SleepingScience of Sleeping
The windows aren't closed but its murky here.
They were shut earlier, but wasn't peaceable.
It's the buzzing in hallways that is at impasse
And no matter how I shake the bubble; won't.
Can't. It can't. I can't. Severs all the nerves.
Staring from the window into the hollow deep.
Transfixed by darkness there, its consumption
phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-53595770303839494502014-10-27T13:45:00.001-05:002014-10-27T13:45:27.887-05:00Losing Faces
Losing Faces
There are more faces in here than I can count.
One for each one of them; also for my sanity.
Speaking of putting aside of childish things, I
Cannot surrender these that make me whole.
It becomes harder as the years pass though.
The personas wither and peel away, exposing
Raw flesh, raw mind, raw face, raw heart, and
I can't do this for much longer, phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-26804911329600007722014-10-27T09:18:00.002-05:002014-10-27T09:18:55.095-05:00Arousing CuriosityArousing Curiosity
The curves and angles of her face delight me.
Tiny doppelgänger, embodies my fascination.
Those illuminating eyes could fill the universe.
I would long to peer into her mind, to see her.
I wish to know this child who hides in the fold.
I want to see her world from her point of view,
In her own words, just a brief glimpse will do.
Sophoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-60183457294453676142014-10-26T12:23:00.003-05:002014-10-26T12:23:59.404-05:00Burdens of Silence
Burdens of Silence
Its a much heavier burden, that of a silence.
A weight of a hollow in the miscreant heart.
Not so much of ether, has shape and name.
How does this warmth turn so cold in here?
Mustn't be for the likes of trespasser flesh.
Not for the darkness, for it would be eaten.
Yet still lives here, this perfect extremophile.
It feeds of the light phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-91761577072373395562014-10-23T22:18:00.001-05:002014-10-23T22:18:08.706-05:00Writing the Wrongs
Writing the Wrongs
There is no muse for this music to play for.
The coffers lain barren longer than dreams.
Achingly etching the notes in monosyllabic
Tempos losing the value; means of melody.
Citing a disease's fortune owning my soul.
Its pocks to bare relevance but only blandly.
Contentedly misguided by my feverishness
All I am to sing writ upon a wall phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-70060363653506384412014-10-22T19:56:00.001-05:002014-10-22T20:11:36.986-05:00All My Falling
All My Falling
It would be so easy, but so far from painless.
Engulfed in myriad frustrations, protestations.
To what victor goes my spoils of war at arms?
At arms length, always and forever, and never.
Statued tearful ironies, won battles, lost war.
To become sour on the mind but taste sweet.
To want so little, and encompassing oblivions.
I so needphoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-52893614197424385442014-10-14T19:17:00.000-05:002014-10-14T19:17:06.557-05:00What's Good?What's Good?
The rain had moved in, settled, down poured,
Tomorrow's forecast, much the same as this.
In a moment though, momentary lapse, word;
I found a sun, or perhaps you carried it here.
It will wax or wane, who trusts a weatherman,
But it matters, if only to you; shapes meaning.
So we built a chain, first one letter, then word,
strung together brushstrokes, something newphoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-47544476411343493932014-10-12T19:31:00.003-05:002014-10-14T19:23:30.681-05:00Pick the Window?Pick the Window?
Why must we dance upon shards so often?
Would you have the years be all for naught?
The weather of your face, so unpredictable.
All I can do, let the clouds roll over and past.
There is nothing beyond this, my tiny window.
There are fleeting few minds that touch mine.
How can it be easy, blinding your eyes to me?
You'll not have to raise a hand phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-20932320510876822832014-10-12T19:25:00.001-05:002014-10-12T19:25:14.005-05:00Pick the Door?
Pick the Door?
Can't we take this hurricane outside please?
It has been an earthquake, slowly, but surely.
The slow motion landslide builds momentum.
Soon enough we'll both be buried, or is it me.
I'll carry forth the rain, you'll take the thunder.
Is as it always was, only bent by apocalypse.
Which one of us becomes puppet for today?
In truth it is both, phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-14127320021853699702014-10-12T19:22:00.004-05:002014-10-12T19:22:39.092-05:00Agonised Descent
Agonised Descent
She continues down her slow descent.
Its an achingly slow motion catastrophe,
And it has us tilting maddeningly along.
She wants us all to suffer with her, too.
She always wanted us to suffer for her.
Her will is so spiteful, its too engrained.
It is a program that runs on an autopilot.
Its easier to lie for its more painless than...
phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-19789994570404531372014-10-08T22:02:00.002-05:002017-12-14T21:48:21.852-06:00A Cracked MirrorA Cracked Mirror
To say it was a mirror, that it was you, but not.
To look that mirror in the eyes, it's impossible.
The mirror was cracked and worn out already.
The mirror sees what it wants, also what not.
The mirror is cracked, though it still sees you.
You speak to similarities, but tis only a mirror.
To share nothing in common, was just a face.
phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-40346444589309551102014-10-07T22:08:00.005-05:002014-10-07T22:09:23.154-05:00The Door or the Window
The Door or the Window?
I have opened the door on a storm front, but
Its thickness weights my soul into the ground.
It could grind me to dust, burn me to cinders,
As if to eat me alive if I take my eyes off of it.
But in my weakness, it is to my fight or flight.
Tis not choice, it is feint by unsteady means.
And I have to ratchet the screw, little by little.
phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-11575627576737415582014-10-06T21:20:00.002-05:002014-10-07T16:29:04.357-05:00So Swiftly Tilted
So Swiftly Tilted
So, what is the new game we play, my dear?
Sometimes it seems yellow, sometimes blue.
Sometimes tinted thinly red round the edges.
And sometimes light is swallowed in a black.
Sometimes the tables tilt and I lean far away,
And sometimes am only wayward in protest.
Then flip though; you, sometimes I can't say.
Do you come forward or slip away, phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-35798643675408964082014-10-05T13:37:00.000-05:002014-10-06T22:11:45.554-05:00Glass Ceiling
Glass Ceiling
It turned into a sinkhole, only it refused me.
Instead it sank into the middle and settled.
There is none who should have use for this.
Should have been me, should have been,
Should have filed it into archives for good.
There is no oxygen for me to breathe here.
And the deeper I can fall, the colder it gets.
And the longer, meansphoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-77412652259324419382014-09-30T20:08:00.001-05:002014-10-05T13:42:56.069-05:00The Comedy of TragedyThe Comedy of Tragedy
Twas a split second and could have looked away.
Without second thought, without fleeting glance;
If not for words, token gesture, oh, what might be!
Of those chance encounters; often to be unseen.
Of beautiful absences; rarely, to know of anything.
'Tis wonder in not, if I had not found, astonishing.
The edge of rainbows, the light of stars, miniscule.
A second; fork in phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-20436062632003320212014-09-29T18:56:00.001-05:002014-10-29T21:53:26.245-05:00Don't Make MeDon't make me
Even if i keep all these words at bay,
The secret must also be mine to keep.
If I keep all my ghosts for myself then
I can look you in the eyes and so smile.
What you've given to me is worthy of
The millions of weary tears just as it is.
Don't make me say it, oh please, love
As some wrongs can never be cleared.
Don't make me speak out loud now,
Because I know of the transparency.
phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-25247483422331231002014-09-28T16:37:00.004-05:002014-09-28T16:37:58.250-05:00The Last Few StepsThe last few steps
I need to lash out but it just makes me one of them.
I can feel the live wire that is my livid consciousness.
There are no corners in this place, only empty space.
I'm not going to make it. Each year that passes I can
Feel this dark stranger just behind me, just out of sight
And I already know what she wants, what she means,
And what she will have of me phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-61837869036591606582014-09-28T16:31:00.003-05:002014-09-28T16:31:40.624-05:00The Return of the ButterflyThe Return of the Butterfly
It was always just this way for the two of us, my dear.
Would be you crawl to me every time you're winded?
I can only kiss your wounds, and dress them for you.
I could even make the rain stop for a moment or two.
I can hold you, and let you shake, but it is so fleeting.
I am the past, and oh how you crave to abuse yourself.
You only want me phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8942164634417394821.post-88585751094391933192014-09-26T19:19:00.001-05:002014-09-26T19:24:39.724-05:00The PassageThe Passage
Its all so paper thin, a billion grains woven from a billion more.
It only takes a few for genesis but then it exists exponentially.
The beginning of the equation takes a form and a shape and
Winds onward into infinity even while imprisoned in the finite.
And a fine thread begins to unravel from the edge of existence;
Separates and stretches toward darkness needing phoenixhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03825938801349510512noreply@blogger.com0