My nemesis calls upon me
once again as is her custom...
All she ever wanted was
to hold his hand, tell him...
Little Annie sits upon a wooden shelf
little black eyes stare out...
Looking at an old picture of me,
Through the broken glass...
Friends come
And they go...
"Oh look at them pretty eyes"
Eyes that bear into your soul...
Just a face in the crowd
A raindrop in the sea...
My first memory of depression
Takes me back to ten-years-old...
a grief tsunami
swirled around Notre-Dame’s spire...
A Poem About Anxiety
I do what I think is right...
Piece by piece,
slices here, slices there...
while sitting alone and thinking of you
my memories brings a shade so blue...