I reach
Into the engulfing darkness
And pull back
A hand
Covered in paint
Red, green,
Crippling self-esteem
A home that is
More broken that it seems
I reach
Into the chaos
And pull back
Sticky fingers
Glass shards, whiskey stained
Unimaginable pain
Thoughts I cannot escape
What once was soft
Loving, floaty and gentle
Is now raging, hateful
Indifferent and ungrateful
I ask for help
Hold the hands that once
Cradled my face
And they pulse with premature age
They drip with chains
And the art, it mocks
The critics flock
I hold onto my brush
And try to break creative block
Only to find, again
I have failed
Finish it
It is time
This is the work that will
Turn around
My bitter life
End the strife
Restore my wife
Heal my daughter
Despite all that I taught her
I am
Trembling fingers on a canvas
Paint-stained and ravenous
Ready to take my bow onstage
Isn’t it strange?
They say
Madness runs
In my family
Madness is but
A layer
Do I take hold of the fear
Behead it?
End it?
Put a stop to its underserved reign?
Am I insane?
Do I run
or let the madness
Run?
12:32am - 10/12/25