Sense of parenting: fragmented.
Parents: parts of my existence.
Secrecy compounds…
Like second-hand smoke.
Collaborate and move on.
With age, you become faster at adapting.
Adaptable species.
Addiction only exists in the individual.
When we’re together, we’re one entity.
We create a fantasy…
Cobble the jig-saw puzzle together
After you tear it down.



You’re targeting or you’re the target.
You’re the objectifier or you’re the object.
You’re the finder or you’re the hidden.
You’re the driver or you’re the driven.
You’re the hunter or you’re the hunted.
You’re the grower or you’re the stunted.
You’re the capturer or you’re the captured.
You’re the rapturer or you’re the raptured.
You’re the hook or you’re the bait.
You’re a steady catch or you’re the wait.
You’re this or you’re that.
You’re always your own combat.


Enigmatic, eccentric penumbra of my soul,
where light and shadow blend together,
cascading tears of darkness shining
from my fragile, cryptic, heavy eyes.
Sensitive to sensory overload.
Insensitive to resoluting revolution.
Stability’s curiosity never cured.
Soul’s shadow coheres into void,
swallowed by an amalgamated abyss.
Light’s locked on other side
of somewhere love never survived.