Click, hum. The phone line dies,
The ghost of rejection tickling one
Ear as it floats across the other. Her
Breath goes with it, a short exhale
Of frustration and grief.

The room is now silent, save for the
Shallow breaths of the aging dame
Grey mascara rivers running down
Thin crevices, inexorable lines of
An inevitable future. No makeup
So fine and polished can mask: she’s fallen
Victim to the times, pushing and straining
As far as the limits of her youth will allow

Cold remnants of an untouched meal
Watch from the corner, stale, unwanted
collecting dust and fleas,
Waiting to be disposed of, bound to be forgotten.
She pauses, blinks. The pit of her stomach
Grumbles in understanding -- two hands
Jump to grasp a cinched waist.
Open bourbon, brought in anticipation of good news
Teases:  no cheers for the old hag!

A fist and a table, an empty glass soon
Filled as she pours herself a bitter dose
Of panacea, just a little something to take
The edge of her face, to knock off a few years and
Quiet the pain.

Fifty and forgotten, candle in the wind
A name that once drew the largest of crowds,
Full theatres and a demand in the public eye,
Now brings nonchalance, indifference, or
Worse -- ignorance! Who?

The young starlings, bright, eager doe-eyed
Little things: they are the new pull, the desired
Flavor and choice eye candy. She trembles, but
Blames the alcohol: after all, it whispers,
*Who wants to look at you?

Some days,
I feel like I’m the only one left here,
a sound of anxiety is too clear,
whispering in my ear,
floating softly in rays,
helplessly dreary days,
perfectly lost in trance,
ferocious beasts collide to dance,
escape no chance
obsolescence,
broken pieces of me reminiscence.


Some days,
sadness is magically beckoning,
voluntarily pursuing,
constantly succeeding,
dust particles sparkling
like tiny specs of glitter
galaxies of terrors shiver,
storms ignite with chaos
insecurities wondrous
creating puzzle
in a muzzle.

Some days,
oh most of the days
are falling apart
and I can’t help it,
the habit
of endlessly dwelling
the warmth
of whiffing my soul.

-**d.t

It hits out of nowhere, with no warning.
A year since my last mental breakdown,
Thinking I was done with suicidal ideation,
And it hits me with the force of a torpedo.
I never know where it was lying dormant
Or what triggered the volcanic eruption
That burns away all progress made.
I just know that it hurts, and the ash lays heavy on me.
I lie down and I don't let myself get up.