Secular Confession

If ever spilled blood, '
it would be my own, 
running down my arms, 
staiing my shirt and pants, 
collecting in pools on the floor, 
punishment for my sins.

What a mess! 
He was always so neat...look at him now...

Then there would be nothing left, 
nothing to be looked at as beautiful. 

He was never terribly remarkable anyway...

No great loss on that day, 
since there was no greatness anyway.

Carrying razor blades, 
always with bottles of cheap wine, 
lots of cheap wine, 
leaving behind inhibitions, 
building the rage, 
flowing in my veins, 
(that unmanageable rage) 
never been controlled, 
never been shown to have a rational origin. 

Look around and relaize how crazy things can be. 
Look around and listen to all this nonsense given out for free...

Now think of sitting calmly, 
without shaking hands, 
still there is the noise that no one else can hear, 
listen to the thoughts, 
and always fail to comprehend why, 
no one else feels like you do, 
and of how the smallest vibrations, 
in those nuerons, 
get turned on and off, 
by the smallest stimulus, 
like the way the wind blows, 
and then hear how some would say and others remark that he is just to sensitive. 

T.S. Deary 
11/8 - 12/11/23