Editing Process (January 7, 2018)

I hear screams

Of “bleeping murderer"

Taunting me.

In removing

Those stillborn poems

That no longer speak

Or resonate.

Taking up space

As I search

For those lost poems

Seeking closure.

You think

I want to

Do this?

Destroying a sliver

Of my soul

In such a careless

Casual manner.

Marking me

A hideous killer

Deserving to be tarred

And feathered.

As angry shouts

Have accused me

Of being.

Therisa © 2019

Author’s note: Over the past month, I have removed about 20 partial poems, from my
writing file that no longer speak to me, in the need to write, or are long stale to my muse.

Storm Front (September 28, 2016)

Can feel it

Eating away

Like a cancerous growth

On my soul.

Its taint growing

Ever darker

With passing day

I breathe.

Each tsunami

Grows larger

In the emotional impact

They have

Upon me.

Slowly

My soul's shoreline

Is being eroded

Under this barrage

Of tears.

Forcing me

To flee

Ever deeper

Inwards

Into my inner shell.

Stopping

One step short

Of the ultimate out.

As my soul

Whither away

Like some strange fruit

On a tree branch.

Awaiting my body

To join it

In embracing Death

For one last time.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: I wrote this poem, during the wee hours of morning, on September 28, 2016, as I struggled with my sleep, after a brutal and very emotional weekend, previously, for the second straight weekend. Not sure, which is worse, the constant lack of sound sleep, or the emotional yo-yoing, I have been experiencing.