Missing

I used to be me. 

A recipe of pieces come 

together easily, fondly. 

Smooth as warmed butter,

calm as the sunrise bay. 

I was an amalgamation of

amicable pieces,

born to connect – to work. 

When I woke up this morning,

everything had changed. 

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Fight of the Night

In the fight of the night
Punches are thrown
Without fists to take the blame.
Deep darkness is infinite
The only place to shed a scream.
People see a gritty outline of truth,
Enough to calm their frightened minds
And cover worry with ignorance.
After all, it must be bliss
If that’s what others say.
No way could one man’s tortured act
Keep another man’s fear at bay.