You know not how to stitch a
Wound, to tend it so it heals.
You can only twist the knife.
Tag: psychic
Citizen
The nation I belong to
Has no passports or borders
Just people dancing, loving
Center
Everything changes
Except me. I sit,
And watch, am unmoved
Substitute
May the pain and shame
Rain down on me so
You might be spared
Pondering
Are others’ minds like mine? Do
They whir with fantasy, then
Screech in harsh accusation?
Succubi
The love of your kin spreads its
Virulent tendrils into
My spine, draining my spirit
Anamnesis
You speak a language I have
Forgotten, move in ways that
Stir me like another life
Fragments
It’s not really gone,
These are just seeds for
the future, waiting
Threshold
I sense that I will
Break through or break down
Perhaps both will be
Herman’s Hermitage 