Medicated Normalcy

Exodus of speech to fill the lungs.

Trap all troubles in capsules.

Reveal all down a roaring barrel’s call.


In reflection are we all found,

dispensing tragedy around as if surprised

when silence is prescribed in turning backs and shying eyes.


From the torrents washing above,

cracks will be revealed,

and cracks will be defined as weakness of the mind.


Immersed in clay,

dive below the realization and defy recognition.

Husks are hollowed out for all of us to witness.

Husks are hollowed out for all of us to conceal.


In reflection are we all found,

describing trauma that surrounds fortress walls

communicated as resolve;

stoic, unwavering, imperfect in false perfection.


To wake up and breathe is not a eulogy.

It is the bravery that compels towards unknown lines.

Rising to walk is not preordained defeat.

It is the courage to know the chasing drama knives

and to willingly travel unphased by the scars

to recover from what was never deserved.

Never a fault of yours to find yourself broken at times.


Low as it comes to be,

this is temporary reality.

Believe in the comfort of survival.

Believe in the person that strives without flinching,

sheds the strain of memories in absence of shame,

deconstructing the proclaimed resolve that has made all quiet.


Do not be caught in the prescribed silence.

There is value in life.

There is value in who you are.

There is value in what will become.

There is value in the march onward.

~

❤ Mitch

Buried, Unburied

Here comes the familiar shadow,

on schedule for temporary malfunctions.

Stepping off the dock with purpose in relaxed steps;

a rehearsed motion to proceed into deconstruction.

The same greeting at the doorstep.

ushered in to sit and stare off into the back of my skull,

laser-like precision undermining defenses,

leaking out the lies of positive mindsets

drying on stained linoleum next to yeast lakes and small mistakes.


Shake hands to reach agreement;

let the nadirs inhabit the page again.

Swipe a pen left and right as a dance held by a string,

playing puppet master over trauma that dictates how it roves.


It’s all too common to shatter routine’s grip.

A choking grasp is too frequent to voice objection,

but a lover’s hug that shows meaning

and the reasoning behind the screaming quiet of the room.


Open up for the familiar shadow.

Notebooks strewn across without weight to bear it down,

be it metaphor or literal or caught between,

convinced of the veracity of harm when asked for,

but unsure why it’s requested beside an opportunity to thrive;

to catch the spotlight upon the crude language of my wrists,

placing all hope onto a fragile medium

where slow suffocation is a destiny

and I’m losing the argument against it.


Welcome the familiar shadow as it arrives.

Patchwork prose is enough to clog the blood.

Unleash the limitations and the reoccurring thoughts will leech.

Cross fingers and believe it leads to peace.

~

❤ Mitch