Tuesday, September 21, 2010


when the strain of too damn much erupts
my clammy palms stretch the skin at my temples
reeling back the piercing ache that threatens to overtake me.
can a brain swell from the stress of unfinished business?
like keeping pressure on a wound, all slippery and pulsing,
my hands constrict and push, fumbling desperately at a broken dam;
a life awash in worry, wasting away in the wonder of what should have been,
too preoccupied to entertain the what if.
hope is a commodity too valuable for the angst of regret.

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