Wicked Rising

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Time to be wicked,

A devilish grin for all.

Watch the magic rise.

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Nail it Down

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If it hurts going down,

I must attest you don’t repress.

We’ve got ashes to hide,

White lies for the less-than-wise.

I’ll watch my tongue,

Eye the trail.

Clear my lungs,

And pass the condemning nails.

Make sure you seal up my coffin real tight,

Because I might want a second wind at a fight.

Mealtime

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I like to see my chickens;

My babies, my loves.

They are interesting creatures.

Unbothered by most,

But curious of everything.

 

At the shake of a bag,

They come charging.

“Worms, worms, worms!”

That’s what I assume is on their mind.

Stomp, stomp, stomp!

The little chicken is pecking at my leg now.

 

I throw a handful of mealworms on the floor.

They attack, not unlike their predecessors.

I ought to be playing the Jurassic Park soundtrack.

One second there are worms, and the next they’re gone.

And then they walk away, content until the next time.

In All Modesty

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I like to jump from one thing to another.

It keeps me busy,

It keeps me sane.

It is such a problematic trait though.

I just throw, and throw, and throw,

Until all my energies are gone;

Depleted, defeated, destroyed.

 

There is a picture that I do not like to see;

A future of just me.

 

That’s not to say that I don’t like myself.

I love myself,

In all modesty.

 

I am strong and smart and capable.

Not nearly as ambitious and competitive as I used to be,

But I am trying.

The thought of being stripped of my family, friends, and potential loves is terrifying.

It’s lonely and bleak.

It is a recurring thought, largely ungrounded, but there.

It’s pervasive and sick, but I must question why it is an unnecessary weight that I bear.