Behind these walls strikes lightning;
space so calm, silence inviting.
Life?
A trifle—stillness frightening.
Gunshot speed, hands are
rifling, unable to find what they need.
Folders overflowing.
Blank pages fill a void.
Desperate, fearful, paranoid.
Drink to shut off. Drink to
avoid. Drink.
Turn down the noise.
You shouldn’t turn here for solace.
I am not the keeper.
Don’t turn here for solace.
