abalone shell

I want my life to be empty
I want it to resound
With the silence
Devoid of any chance, risk
To crawl to the finish line
a shell of my cells.
i ignore any and every
Outside my frozen mudslide.
breathing by spiracle.

If I allow myself to feel, then, I am alive
If I am alive, forced to coexist
with other crustaceans.
i wanna be my own colony.
Leave me a .lone.
Just leave me.

. . I lie


  1. Your comment above gave me much to ponder about those of you creative artists, writers etc. I can now be less fearful as I read some of the intense verse captured here.

  2. sometimes we are just channels for these poems, just because we’ve written down something dark or crazy, doesn’t mean the dark or craziness has embedded permanently in us. we just give it voice so it can pass through, witnessed, free.

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