My road of glass

I walk along a road paved with glass
Splitting the souls of my feet as time continues to pass
the aching walk I have done I do alone
allowing me to bleed till  long after I’m gone

I dont expect you to run to my aid
I dont want you to be there when I cave
falling to my hands and knees
where the slits continue to cover me

It is the blanket of depression
that wraps about my confession
in truth it gags me unconditionally
robbing the chords to speak freely.

I do not ask for you to walk beside me.
this path is mine alone so let me be
Maybe one day I can wander off
Finally free of this blood stained cough.

It is a mechanism
this depresionism
that covers up the soul
It is a chance of forgetting
the all brutality that conintues to eat me whole
it wraps in chains and sways it form
dangeling on thee hook
but the bait if over made
the chord is carried taunt
I want to never give a secon look

Each bloody step in its profound march
leaves me towards the light and from the dark
Something yearning in embers
 burning where my heart remains
locked in prisons only asylumn
where none can gather truth
but the guard will stare
taunt the actions of my youth

Bleed with me on willows end
 and watch the trees there weep
fight with me and to defend
the ones who carry so sweet.
for it is those eyes I gaze
unwinding and unbound
the freedom of those orbs
that I shackle my self to the groung

Suffer not the child
the coind of phrase is mine,
for I walk my path of glass
and make sure none follow behind

Carry them high on bloody steps
and let me take the pain
for thier smiles and laughter
are the memories that remain.

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Drunken Poetry Contest – A riddle of me.

What I Drank:
Amaretto and Pineapple.

A riddle of me:

I remember thinking backwards
When my stories made more sense
When lyrics came out in verse
Instead of staggered on the fence.

No words have you yet you scream in bars
What ever shall you do?
When your visions begin to dance and sway
And reality has long since left you?

Ode to a Toad
You scream hey nonnie nonnie
Repeating words like the talking butterfly
Walking around befuddled and dumb-drunkie

Tipping glasses and breaking plates
No whole in the ground you’d evict
A rightful dwarf you would make.
With less dire needs nor self crucifix

Still wondering the backwards game?
Forgotten all my rhyme?
My passion lies in things I read
Without the reason of the time.

Whats printed on the page
Or in book or tombstone head
Are things for you and I
Lest we rest upon lasts bed.

But lyrics voices and words of true
remain when best they shared.
When children sing of silly games
And legends they have heard.

For give me not my ramble scramble
and mix up of different tales
Here I am as a Kitsune
all them tied along the rails.

Nine of them for you and me,
Fine breed of readers creed
have we forgotten where I was?
Oh yes, and to speak the deed.

Manners manners forget them all,
After all this you know not me
You call to old and fiction stays
Come dance in the rain and you will see.

I am small to the eye
An inch or so
best reflected on the page
No matter what page each phrase I know

As “All the world is a stage!”
From mad scientist to sultans harem
Still no bells? My Ring-a-Ding-Ding Kid?
A libraries pet, the book worm.