writing bloodless words just
to read the hieroglyphs hidden
in the blank spaces they leave,
ducking my eyes whenever anyone
asks how i’m doing.
would kill for six hours’ sleep,
craving oblivion like some people
crave cigarettes, wishing
i could unfilter the thoughts
that churn like a steel mill:
that i
am pale and weak
and tired of crying,
eyes given up on their color and
their question; blindly accepting
the possibility i
lost my soul some weeks ago.
the tenth muse 
I really like this….. it’s beautiful in a melancholy sort of way. The last two stanzas are my favorite.
thanks–this really was kind of a self-portrait of the moment, much more so than what i usually try; glad it touched ground.
–jsl
i like the being able to relate-ness, without really being able to relate.
yeah, i guess it’s kinda like that 😉
–jsl
So, I finally stop checking to see if you’ve written and voila! You sneak one in on me….I dig the new look by the way….But this piece! You know I love your writing but this one (seems) more personal then the others…As always, it moved me deeply…The pic? hehehehehe
Nice
This is amazing this poem….AMAZING!!! That’s pretty much the state of things over here with me…except not the pale descriptor, of course!
glad it struck a common chord, maxine. uncomfortable as it may be to feel like this, at least it makes for interesting writing, eh?
-jsl