No reason for worry
But waiting as if stranded
on some remote isle
staring at pink sunsets
marking time desperately
watching moons wax and wane,
unblinking, sightless,
parched throat never quenched,
selfish wishes never granted,
mind dancing with madness.

No reason for sadness,
But no one ever showed me
how to be happy,
or to smile at scars and ugly marks
and claim beauty.

No reason for resentment
But when was art
ever born of contentment?
Things fall into place
in wildly wrong ways;
burned out, magic lost,
thoughts swirling,
caught in a tempest
-storms are always majestic;
that is why we live.

No reason for drowning,
but lungs filling with venom,
spitting out carcasses of love songs;
every inhale gasping deep,
clawing with blunt fingernails
at a shore nowhere to be found:

No reason for anguish, but
this stomach-roiling grind,
pursuit of ghosts and myths,
stories that go on and on
lies passed on
century after century.
Gifts of torment,
wretched soul to wretched soul.