CHAFF IN THE WIND

I remember when Saturday 

Felt like Sunday

And I was dreading Monday

Feeling like I’m strung out on junk

(Which I never tried) 

I was strung out on life

(Which I couldn’t escape)

And it wasn’t pretty

I hated my life 

The world I lived in

Staked to the ground

Face up in some tribal ritual

Eye lids propped open

Waiting for the sun to burn me blind

I just wanted to die

But couldn’t

Feeling rejected 

Outcast, judged and ridiculed

Was it done to me? 

Or did I do it to myself?

In the back of my mind

In the shadows of 

What I remember myself to be

I felt there was another side

I just had to get there

But the road was dark

There was no light to light my way

Shadows loomed large and mean

In my withdrawal

Happy is an illusion

And I wanted to get lost in that illusion

But knowing the magicians secrets

Is it possible to ever enjoy the magic again?

Are these fancy words for a poem,

A memoir or just letters jumbled with meaning

meant to get lost and scattered like

so much chaff in the wind

/ mobius faith