Thought Habit

It happens constantly
Like biting my nails
Without warning
My finger is in my mouth

Spinning thoughts
Subconscious, round and round
Never finding a conclusion
Besides to torture

The blustery, subzero winds and impermeable ice sheets have something loud and clear to tell Shell: Get the hell out!

Feeling Strapped

Low down
Tired eyes
One heavy leg leads the other
Mindless, yet with habitual purpose

I carry on with what’s near

Always liked to be outside
Liked to be above it all
Looking down thinking
Something bigger was in store for me

I see myself aging and it’s jarring

Reality aches and burns
For fantasy unobtainable
Leaving nothing but dreams
And songs that play infinitely

My attention is in high demand
My head hurts, my neck strains
My eyes dart this way, and that
A new message?

Stop, breathe and look outside
The raven sits perched on her Cedar throne
And she sings