Su Mani

 What does that mean?

Are you trying to kill me?

The demon.

I gotta write this down.

Thoughts.

Voices.

I gotta write this down.

Off

 I came downstairs, jubilant.  The best I've felt in a long time.  I quit coffee and booze, successfully might I add, on Dec. 30, 2021.  I felt like I was drinking steadily since 2020.  I've been tired since, with the traveling, peopling, and finally,  quarantining.  Not tired. Exhausted and on the last fumes.

I've been cuddly all day, snuggly since last night.  You asked me how I felt.  Elated, I hugged you, and then I was jolted back into the numbing reality of your resentment.

"I wish I could get a day off. Oh, wait, I can't."

Just like that, my sunny day turned dark and stormy.  The guilt I feel when I heal is unhealthy.   It makes me hold my tongue, and I can't even look you in the eye anymore because I feel guilty for merely existing.

Misery loves company, so I'm better off in my own company.  

The PO

 Although this time is stressful, and it's easier said than done, take this time to recuperate, because you're not the only one, to deal with the madness, of the local PO, who fires the willing, and only promotes the slow.  It'll take time, but chances are you'll be back with backpay.

Weak

 When I ask you for something, 

to do something, 

to not do something, 

and you ignore me, 

I feel 

physically weak 

and mentally drained.

I recall 

when people 

used to listen to me, 

when my words 

held value, 

and how much 

brighter my soul felt.

Now, 

all I feel 

is silence, 

for being silenced, 

for words 

without weight 

amongst the deaf 

and unwilling 

are futile at best 

and preposterous at worst.

These words 

are like 

plugging a rowboat 

with a drill.

These words 

are ten elephants 

balancing on 

a single beach ball.

Silence

Like there is no point in speaking

So I retreat

Because I have 

no energy to fight 

for I have been weakened.  

I've lost my spirit.  

I've forgotten my spark. 

I've dulled my light 

with this chemical dependency.

This year will be tough, but from it, I will grow.

St. Vincent

 You, 

I'm a silent fan of you,

A stalker in the night,

Filled with auditory delight.

I wish I may,

and I just might,

send a message of

admiration and 

pleasant surprise.

I really dig your musical tastes

It provides the mind with fruitful escape

to another land of

hope, light and dreams

But, of course,

In this world, 

Nothing is as it seems.

I used to share mixtapes, 

and burned cds, 

and copies of things, 

mostly music 

bustin the mental seams

Because life is short,

And filled with pockets,

Of memories 

And reveries

And shared loves with sockets 

(An allusion to being open,

A stretch,

But I digress)

Long story short,

My brain digs yours,

The wealth of knowledge

And access to

Our shared love

Of tape decks.

Hang in There

 Happy Holidays,

To you and yours!

It's funny how we

Just stay indoors,

To escape the fun

Of bug and cough.

It makes me wanna

Take the year off.

I didn't want to

Send you a check,

But I had the funds, 

So here's the rest. 

As a man of mail,

I gotta say,

You're doing a hell

Of a great job,

So, please hang in there; 

The world needs more

Of that pure spirit. 

Thanks!

WS2

 I was very happy, 

almost ecstatic, 

on cloud nine 

without a care 

in the everlasting world, 

and then,

tragically, 

I  saw you.