Authors-Club

There's a secret chamber in my mind Where I like to go and unwind It feels cozy and warm in there No one can touch me or make me scared I like to ponder about my life And the mysteries of our existence While I'm there everything feels right It's a perfect place to escape From this world and its troubles I'm not mean to people even when I'm tucked away in my chamber I just switch on the autopilot in my head And I can chat with others as if I care I don't know if everyone Has a hidden nook to hide But I think they should This world and the Human condition is just too hard to bear Without a safe place To get away from it It's also vital to have A place that's peaceful Where one can actually think I doubt my chamber Will ever save others But it has saved me many times I'm so grateful I found this place Inside my mind Without the noise and all the nonsense My mind can finally be at ease I know some may wonder How do I get there? Or does it really even exist? Well, we surely go

I feel like I've been reset or maybe it was powered down, functioning seems difficult I just want to play and watch all the effort outside of that into the things I regard or rather regarded as work feel like the useless flailing of a drowning man. I'm reaching desperate for the waterwheel to spin desperate for that momentum to start again it feels weird clenching at ghosts things that aren't there desperate for them to solidify desperate to clench something real. I thought, I thought I did more, I thought I did more than enough, to deserve happiness to deserve success to help others to make them greater than I, I just wish I could make them the best they can be I wish I can make them better than me.

Do you remember ice-slick latex paint on cinder block, pock-marked with wounds of countless twenty-somethings, like us, wafting through the walls of the way-station between the plenty of a college-boy pauper and the austerity after. The XL twin squeaks you rolled toward my neck and spoke. Your lips looked like a recording on our 8mm reels as the headlights knocked through the plastic blinds as cars passed. Your breath breaks the smoke plume slithering from my eye-ember cigarette and I hear the words, "I worry about the future." Today I remember you in some unnamable place, tropical, I hope. I breathe this future, my son whining with low fever, cheeks flushed as he strains to sit up and watch Grover and Elmo. Safe in the walls I painted, in a house I bought, Bamboo slats hang in the windows. "I hate puzzles", the first of several incompatibilities that broke us. Scattered pieces of Monet glisten on the table and I am lost between the meditation of fitting shapes in one hand and

Once you twinkled, little star Now I don't know where you are We've electrified our sky We have let your starlight die Once you twinkled, little star Now I don't know where you are