Lament Of The Flowers

I’m sitting here alone with one lamp lit across the room.  It is 3:24 am.  I didn’t sleep at all last night and here I sit still tapping on my laptop’s keys.  I touch them feeling the tactile buttons giving way to the slightest touch of my fingers.

If only I could manipulate my life like I control my trembling fingers on this keyboard.  I could backspace my way out of some pretty horrible ordeals I’ve been going through.

Have you noticed my absence here in cyberspace?  If you haven’t, then perhaps I am actually sitting here alone throwing up words only to flush them away once I hit post.  Actually no, my words will live on despite what my life slaps me in the face with.

I can feel the redness and swelling of my face from so many tortuous unprovoked abuse of my body.  I can feel the pain in my legs, my buttocks, my lower back, my hands and arms, my neck and head.  I can also feel the pain deep within my body.

My trembling fingers find it almost too difficult to dance across the buttons of this keyboard.  I see two of everything I type as I see two of everything else in life.   If only I could enjoy what I see doubling the affect of good things.

There is so much to tell you but I don’t know where to begin.  I don’t even know that I feel like it right now.  It’s late and I really should try and sleep.  I will place between my trembling lips a pipe of medicinal marijuana, that will help me forget about things for a few hours while I slumber.

I’m drooping now like the flowers in the pot in my kitchen that I meant to dispose of.  Instead the petals lie on the kitchen floor for my dogs to sniff at wondering if this is a treat for them to eat.

For now, I will say good night, or good morning?  It is now 4:00 am.

If all goes well, I will return and tell you about the “so much to tell you”.  There is a horrific process that I must endure first,  if I am to live.  I try not to think about it but the butterflies dancing around in my stomach won’t allow it.  Butterflies shouldn’t be inside one’s stomach.


  1. Magdalena Obert

    I wish you a great New Year as well.

    It is people like you that I truly appreciate because of your comment. It is why I write.


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