The Prick Of A Needle…

The prick of a needle,
May appear to be,
Just a scratch,
To the naked eye.
The power is within,
The eye of the beholder,
Take it not for granted,
As all may not be as it seems,
The poison in that needle,
Is where dark shadows,
And death lye.

Dormant Volcano

I am the blackfish in the bowl of goldfish,
I am the monkey in a cage,
The actor on the stage,
All eyes are on me.
When I move,
The spotlight does not follow,
I am yesterday’s news,
Not tomorrow’s star,
I am in the game,
But my position is lame,
Because actually I am rather tame,
And that does not entertain.
I have no microphone,
No subtitles,
Bad lighting,
One must study closely,
To see what is happening.
Still,
Not swimming in circles,
Sitting,
Not frantically swinging around,
Modest,
The stage I stand upon,
No colour,
No sparkle,
No fireworks,
No flames,
But I wish you could peak into my brain,
Witness the insane,
Peak into my stomach,
See the flames of anxiety,
A storm is brewing,
This dormant volcano is bubbling,
And I have reached out,
Tried warning,
But on tired and deaf ears,
My revelations and fears fall,
Too articulate,
Too educated,
Too accomplished,
And fine tuned,
My passive attempts to communicate,
Are dismissed by you all,
All the while,
I slowly crumble and fall.

Salty Face

Sometimes I cry,
Hot tears stream from my eyes,
Snot drops from my nose,
I shake,
I open my mouth,
Gasping for air,
Not a sound,
Not a whisper,
No one to tell,
Can’t find the words to say anyway.
My salty face.
My broken heart.
Heavy eyelids,
I fall into a deep slumber.
When I rise,
It happens all over again,
And again,
And again.