When the door appears

(I know it is safe for me to write here. They won’t know. They laugh that I write and don’t read regardless. I just just crazy and confused and self-absorbed. I am safe here for awhile)


Today the quiet of the house saddens me.

I feel alone and for the first time I feel the black void.

I don’t know which way to turn. The further I travel the darker it wraps around me.

At first resistant to those around me telling me that I have meansprits and I must change or it all will be lost.

(No one else sees that and I don’t know why. I doubt my understanding of the most basic reality..me)

Cursed as a hoarder. I only want a few things to survive.

I only know how to change our things for money to live, but how long will that last.

I stand mocked when I point to a wall and say “but this is good? And these?”

I have taken the plunge of the Damned and I am almost shattered.

I am running out of places to turn.

I am not being heard and I have not given them any reason to fear me.

Losing the battle.

The silence deafens.

And even the fear of a Comets doom offers no fear, offers no relief, offers no release.

Whether it comes or not. It is coming.

My youngest blood churned NY war and bathed in fear. tightens his jaw as he walks away. Another last hope sinks and I think more of the serenity of the cool and the mists and redwoods overhead.

I don’t even look to see their ancient tops. I am happy to sit among them and listen.


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