close the door

lately the days
have been more about surviving
than living
if a mind is awake at all
it can discern the difference

sugar free assurances
a witch ball now hangs
in front of my kitchen window
above blue glass bottles mailed from
the bottom of a westward river

i should be thankful my mind discarded
last night’s offering of images
the only remnant an old packard hearse
that is driving closer containing
my own personal horror show
just enough to destroy everything

no one ever said it would be tolerable

close the door
learn to paint with pain

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