by Cynth'ya Lewis Reed

Ever feel as if that regardless of whatever you say or do
that there are social demons whose goal
is to take you down in the first of nine rounds
by taunting and haunting you?

And at the very moment you thought you've found a sweet abode of peace, you question yourself,
"Will my storms really ever cease?" 

And do you recall the times that you knew with
ZERO doubt you've finally worked things almost completely out,
but the scars of your current state of existence
were so battered down from turbulence that it was
next to nearly impossible to shout for
HELP?
Help?
help?
(error signal...)

But your phone was dead...and the 911 dispatch
was either on vacation or on lunch break
because they, too, were surrounded by the
pressure that they could no longer handle.

So, there you stand, in the funky four corners of your mind,
looking for something to ease your soul,
with spirits mangling throught the leftovers
from the last time they visited your tent of flesh.

Yet you still hang on to the belief that duct tape can hold
anything in place, except for the leaks in the roof of your existence.

So, once again appears that your forecast in your
Search For Tomorrow
has been repeated re-categorized as
"unpredictably broken...
with a slight accumulation of ugly."


©ReedismXYZ
all rightz reserv'd