Grave Distress

Throat burning, molten fire dripping,
winter extracting a high fee for the
desire to live, shrinking existence
to a small point of absolute
discomfort

This dreary darkness, every moment
slanted, almost falling over, pitchforking
emotion annihilating awareness of loving
presence, all sound empty of meaning, all
activity devoid of sense

Lost ability to find my way back, still on the
way down, must reach rock-bottom before the
tide can turn, doing nonsensical things acting as
iron posts in weaving my little story, I am trying
to manipulate

The narrative imperative, seeking a new perspective
on mundane activities, trying to find ways to enjoy
repetitions of things I loved before, the raw state
of my burning throat precluding all success and
when I swallow

I am in grave distress…


[Addendum:]

A fizzy drink, a throat lozenge, words of good
intent: thoughts determine everything about the
life we live and our relationships, like magnets
we attract our experience, attention to positive
aspects of others attract the beauty we desire

Thoughts determine who make their way into
our lives and how they behave once they get
here; may my thoughts find more wonderful
people and may the nobility of the people I
know expand and grow; a marvelous idea -

What a lovely thought is this!