The Trivia of Suicidality

He looked her in the eye,

while she showered his ego,

his mind might wish to cry

he couldn’t reveal he might go.


Talk to me about life today,

how fortunate we are to live

how easy it is to simply step away

even just after looking so alive.


See that’s the beauty of conversation

knowing someone is listening,

the laughter, the genuine ideation

of this is our reality, keep it happening.


I drove home today imagining only

oncoming traffic coming my way,

I’m thankful I cannot get past the beauty

of letting each driver live lives without delay.


Imagine if one sudden move were to suggest

these really are the fears I cannot digest.

Wondering The Hemingway

The first time I read he died,

I thought it a plot line.

I wondered how could a prolific artist

make such a morbid decision.

I thought, characters, roles

in the book please

-real life, fantasy-


the strain of alcoholism is real,

as is,

the dangerous notion of


I am living proof.

He reached a level of proof he close to not deny.

I have walked through life with suicidal notions

the majority

of my life.


Most often the reasons are very real

mistakes I have made

a reputation of not meeting a standard

the simple notion of



we all have a job to do

we all have a job to do


yet today I am worthless,

barely able to complete a sentence

and yet here I am

speaking to this society

– we are all warriors –

some lost in our own fear,

others drawn upon the beauty

inspiration provides a healthy life.


I don’t feel healthy today.

Someone told me recently I have

touched so many lives.

What happens that day they wake and reslize

I was trying to convince myself

more attempting to guide them,

and I realized, I lost.


what happens then!

Sylvia Plath

I wrote this because I struggle with my own depression, and I know that Sylvia is and was revered. What i don’t know is why or how our society has come centuries without understanding what depression is and what mental health and what matters to the sanctity of our lives. What i don’t know is why tragedy is the only way people can seemingly come to understand the identity of another.

What determines legacy – exhaustion or raw talent and how do we find a balance between the two?

This is for Sylvia, because I picture you in your state of mind in this what probably was your back yard one beautiful afternoon – a portrait in a series that contains smiles as well as sadness …


How Many Poets Have Died?

Have you ever wondered,

was it really a …

did the traffic suddenly change

was the fall

timed in such a way

that every factor


that all the t’s were crossed.


Because isn’t that what we’re left with …

figuring out why

understanding there isĀ  a reason

and this was meant to

help to



Or is just jealousy,

she figured it out first.

I think her name was

Laura Aschenbrenner,

somehow it stays with me,

the clothing line in her back yard,

with he lifeless body hanging,


wanting nothing more,

having decided this would be the answer

to everything she could possibly

ever wish for in the

rest of her life,

the last ten minutes before

she could breathe no more.


I’m sitting here writing about

killing myself,

I’m already the hero,

the delusional martyr,

the one that calls himself


but without the attraction

of the gorgeous girl down the street

who seemed to be the only one whom understood,

the only one who cared,

the only remaining factor

keeping this writer alive.


But who really gives a shit,

the gravedigger,

thankful for the job,

the composer who wrote their music

years ago with a completely different

outcome in mind.

Who is the winner, when there will be so much lost.


On who?


Feeling Not Safe

when well enough becomes

a lie


lika an old television drama

doc walks in

he smiles

everyone looks around the room


yet suddenly he

the doc

notices something outside

the window

– an opportunity –

to sidetrack the meaning.

Doc says outloud

everyone can hear.


the landscape has begun to change.

sad really, your life is no longer your own.

the Doc glances back at all the people

in the room … waiting on his answer.


suddenly little Jimmy and Alice look at each other,

his beautiful smile has become all of our pain.


~ finding my way, a personal journey ~

to Z with all of my love

When Tears Have Meaning

Sometimes I just want to cry
but it’s what holds me back,
the reality that nothing will be waiting
on the other end,
oh there is cleansing
the spirit of release
of all that emotion
driven through the pore
of our human condition,
and yet,
that albatross
the tears … return

A Distant Reminder

this lake

I stood on this pier

more times than I might remember,

this picture speaks to my reality,

and yet,

everyday another sun rises.

I don’t understand why

I live this life of


a person told me once,

after awhile we get good,

practice, practice

I’d like to find a new routine

there are certain realities

that I can never let go of,

constant reminders

that tell me to remember …

I don’t understand the concept …

letting go.

~ finding my way, a personal journey ~

I Wish For Certainty

Life would be easy,

if when a gasp,

we might choose the next breath,

the wind our motor

to vehicle our lives beyond this



reality whereby the time alone,

leaves such an ill-fated



Oh my, such a mouthful of


said the optimist

to the cynic

rolling down the damp pavement

of their own personal


realizing only now,

there would be less time

to appreciate the evolution

of the seasons,

these our own natural


that mark assured existence,

our reality.


Oh for now,

hop back on the train,

for the human carnivore

our societal ills,

the places we go,

the times we recall,

will only be faint memories,

the years travel by,

and one day,

that gasp we became so dependent upon,

will reach for

another sky.

~ finding my way, a personal journey ~

This Way – (audio)


In a quiet state

I sit alone

hear the raindrops outside

dancing across autumn leaves

the damp texture

of an autumn day.


I sit alone

wondering just

how long can my life

go on leading this seeming



I sit alone

hoping some gesture

some meaning

beyond our own

human compassion

some reality that


take me away


I sit alone

I watch the skies darken

I think of just how possible it is to be

this way.

~ finding my way, a personal journey ~