My ex-best friend. Where r u?


I was afraid you’d hit me if I’d spoken up I was

Afraid of your physical strength I was afraid

You’d hit below the belt I was afraid of your

Sucker punch I was afraid of you reducing me

I was afraid of your alcohol breath I was afraid

Of your complete disregard for me I was afraid

Of your temper I was afraid of handles being

Flown off of I was afraid of holes being punched

Into walls I was afraid of your testosterone

I have as much rage as you have

I have as much pain as you do

I’ve lived as much hell as you have

And I’ve kept mine bubbling under for you

You were my best friend

You were my lover

You were my mentor

You were my brother

You were my partner

You were my teacher

You were my very own sympathetic character

I was afraid of verbal daggers I was afraid of the

Calm before the storm I was afraid for my own

Bones I was afraid of your seduction I was afraid

Of your coercion I was afraid of your rejection

I was afraid of your intimidation I was afraid of

Your punishment I was afraid of your icy silences

I was afraid of your volume I was afraid of your

Manipulation I was afraid of your explosions

I have as much rage as you have

I have as much pain as you do

I’ve lived as much hell as you have

And I’ve kept mine bubbling under for you

You were my keeper

You were my anchor

You were my family

You were my savior

And therein lay the issue

And therein lay the problem

Songwriters: Alanis Morissette

Sympathetic Character lyrics Ā© Universal Music Publishing Group



If your mouth moves too often Silence it

Chattering pigeons pecking words of nothing




Grant me silence

Endless still mouths without lips

No flashing crooked teeth biting air

Let me float on a cloud going nowhere

Alone with Little Prince escaping crowded rooms

Letters crashing like lies

Sentences explode muddled without you.

I just want SILENCE.

Little Prince and I

DIH 8/18

A subtle DM – šŸ–¤šŸ’œ

Saturn touches the earth

And I am moved with sweat

Seeing it so close must surely mean the end

The rings so brightly blinding me

As the thunder shakes my heart


No fools here

You make my head swim

Float and drift

Lying safely on your image

Unknown reality

You must be drunk

Tricks and ego

Something different to do today

Ending the monotony

As Saturn lands on earth.


Been a little busy, in a good way!

I’ve been writing short stories about people with mental illness. Concentrating on characters who just happen to be ill and making them as identifiable as possible.

It’s important to me that these characters could be anybody. Not a stereotype or diagnoses, just a person going through a phase or situation.

My purpose is to help chip away at the stigma that is out there about those of us with BiPolar or Schizophrenia or depression and the list goes on…

I don’t want it to read like the PDA, but rather as a glimpse into someone’s life. There will be some triggering and tragic instances, but also some simple one. Which to a person without anxiety would be a simple task. But for those of us with anxiety, it’s a major undertaking.

There is a Writers’ Conference at Rutgers University I wish to attend. But money is an issue. When isn’t it when it comes to living on a very limited budget. I have to have the money for the conference and the money to get to and from the train. I’ll be taking a bus, to a train and then Lyft. Unless I can get enough to just take Lyft there and back, that would be heaven.

This is my mission and my dream. To get this book finished and attend this conference in June. Either way, I am writing this book.

The conference would put me in contact with publishers and fellow writers and give me a peek into what it takes to get your work out there. To find out if there is a market for my book or would I be creating one. I realize that I need to attend this conference in order to get a better understanding of what I intend to accomplish. In real terms and not just as a dream.

So, if you’re still reading. Please consider helping me attend this conference by clicking the link and hopefully contributing to my cause. Even if you don’t contribute a comment would be nice. We have to support each other and not be ashamed of who we are, and remember that our illness does not define us.

Thank You.

Donate to help me attend theĀ conference, CLICK HERE.

Is it weakness

Second treatment for Ā bronchitis, I’ve been going through. Pills that you have to eat with and I don’t like eating 3 times a day. I try light meals, but need protein etc. to keep my stomach from hurting.

To think, all this weakness and phlegm and headaches and body ache. Are because I traveled to a high volume public area. I’ve been into the city and didn’t get this sick. Penn Station in NJ is a toxic farm. I saw roaches and it smelled and you didn’t really want to sit down. But I had a long wait. Somewhere in there and the train and the bus, I caught this shit.

I was exhausted and in massive pain, after I got home. Made me wonder about all the traveling I use to do without incident. And how now I feel so weak and old and I’m not even fifty yet.

I’ve got to crawl back into bed.

Basquiat is haunting me





I saw the movie BasquiatĀ (movie link) this week. And I guess seeing it while reeling with bronchitis is not a good idea. I was doing my own trip. My thoughts turned from doing heroin, too living in bohemia. Thinking what the hell was I doing in college when all “THIS” was going on and why wasn’t I part of it. Because you chose college stupid and were too young. Only by seven years.

BasquiatĀ (artist’s site) was an artist during the eighties. And a line from the movie is haunting my mind. I see surfing in the skies and I wonder, ‘what year is this?’ when I still see racism.

I think the bohemian lifestyle appealed to me the most. I would love to walk down the streets in my pajama’s. To seriously not give a shit and to do as I felt, without hurting anyone, but just because I was moved by the moment.

I want to write or polish my short story. I finished one and my grammar sucks. It’s been so long since the fourth grade. But that shouldn’t stop me. There’s a book in me. I feel these stories, my mind is churning with characters and scenes and dialogue and I do nothing.

Am I lazy? Right now I’m just sick. So I’ll concentrate on that and get over this right now. I keep looking for distractions from being caught up in my illnesses. When one stares me right in my face, one I love. If not now, when? Maybe never.

No one I’ve shown my short story too doesn’t like it and they’re not just being nice. I have asked them for only negatives. I’ve gotten some and went back and made changes. I even managed to write a short paragraph to add to the story. I need to fill in some spaces with more descriptive writing, but I can do that.

Part of me wants to jump onto the next story, but I need this one to feel complete.

And a course on grammar.

Still working on bronchitis, head not too clear. Still seeing surfers in the skyline and smiling.

The Blackest Wings






I felt the blackest wings attach to my back this morning

I awoke with them, rose out of bed and felt them flutter

Heaviness, burden and foreboding


Warrior wings of archangels, now were mine

Not to possess, I knew that.


They had brought me a message


Something soon would approach

Something as heavy as those wings

Those invisible wings that I could feel, yet not see

For they were cloud like, pitch black smoke


I carried these wings for three days

Each day, they became lighter

The darkness fading, but still attached


They are with me now,

Protecting me and aiding in the battle ahead.


Their appearance confused me

But now I understand

My body is at war with itself

And I take my Vorpal Sword in Hand.


DIH 01/09/16



Smile the widest smile and laugh the loudest

Give until it hurts, because it will hurt

it always hurts.

Joke about your past mistakes and losses

Lighten the mood.

Slip in a true feeling, a simple one, ever so slightly, the smallest utterance.

So no one will notice.

Can’t be caught with emotions exposed

For they will rip them and tear them from you like a slaughtered lamb

And we can’t have that.

Never expose the true pain

Numb it with alcohol, pills, work

and hours of sleep.

Hide it inside, the raw feelings, failures and losses

About to burst.

Let no one see, let no one know

Lest it all goes… poof.

DIH 12/09/15

‘Tis Holiday Seasonal Disorder Time

ā€˜Tis Holiday Seasonal Disorder Time

The sun sets sooner
The feelings dredge deeper
The scars resurface and the pain twinges in my head

These are the months of forced happiness and joy

Of family and money and abundance
For those who have it
Serving only as a reminder
For those who don’t

A staple in my foreskin
That I have none of these.
Happiness, family or joy
My dwelling echoes
reminds me I am alone

each sound resonates its hallow presence.

Time for forced smiles or selfies
Gifts wrapped in debt
Time to mingle amongst family and pretend you have a life.
Tables overflowing with meals slaved over in hot kitchens
For stressful family gatherings of suppressed anger.
Snow falls and we smile
Childhood memories of snowmen glint in our eyes.

While shovels full of the stuff
Pull our back muscles to spasms of pain.

This poems a downer

Where is the Joy of the Season?
Where is baby Jesus?
Where is my Xanax?

The Dark Days approach

And the sun sets sooner
And the food is abundant
And gluttony is king.

‘Tis the season to be greedy
‘Tis the season to be forgotten

‘Tis Holiday Seasonal Disorder time
Now, smile for the camera



Eyes – Singular

It is my position to decree that the world will not be ruled by


What if the world was ruled by those with one eye

There would be one eyed rallies and marches

DemonstratingĀ in Times Square.

Holding up their banners of the SINGLE EYE.

While those of us with TWO eyes

hide and cowered in the shadows, hoping to be ignored

Knowing that if it weren’t for that damned eye

We could be like everyone else.

There would be a one eyed President

And World RenownĀ Recording Artist

Lady One Eye.

Whose songs and posters are everywhere.

And who’s followers are called “Little Cyclopses”

While those of us with TWO eyes

Live in ghettos and eat what we can find.

Until some liberal one eyed decides to throw us a crumb.

So the government sets up a system too keep us down,

Yet keep us fed.

So we can work and go to school and live

But never be equal to the

Mighty One Eyed.

Our houses will never be as grand

Our clothes never be as posh

But we survive, those of us with two eyes.

Until they open up the Grand You Can Be Like Them Surgical Mall

Where for a large fee, you can have your second eye ‘plucked’ from your head

And wear an eye patch and at least ‘feel’ like a ONE EYE.

Or you can just wear the eye patch and hope you don’t get caught.

Those of us who can never afford the Malls

Will creep into the back alley’s and take a red hot poker to ourselves

Just to belong, we will sear out our eye.

Just to have a chance at a life without ridicule, judgement

bigotry and poverty.

To have a chance to be educated and just to dream without

playing the EYE card.

Imagine being a child in a ONE EYED WORLD

Looking in the mirror everyday and thinking,

damn my depth of vision.

Why do I have two eyes?

It has to be realized that one eye or two

I am still human.

That with one eye or two

I still matter.

That with one eye or two

I still have a voice

And dreams I wish to fulfill.

What does a one eyed person think when they wake up in the morning?

Ahh, look at the sky,

It’s so blue and the grass smells with dew.

What is next, what shall I do?

Well damn, I think that way too.