Dear Carrie

It’s scary ya know.

The world without you here.

I discovered too late the spirits of you and I were quite near, toast of champagne dear, now I’m trapped in the headlights. Staring into the shine trying to get a glimpse of your eyes. The car keeps approaching, wants to play chicken with me, Life already bulldozed you got a taste for blood, now she’s smitten with me! And I can’t move, it’s like I’m rooted to this spot; you died last year, I froze the moment, and time forgot. So now everyday is yesterday, dictionary on the swing, words at play, make it rain, stranger things like alchemy.

Oh wait.

I’m just cryin.

But I don’t care. Folks are laughing, you didn’t even meet her, if you woulda met her when you were married you probably would’ve cheated with her; plus she was on drugs tucked under the shade of a relapse, everything you like about her was far far away like a Shrek and charming rematch. So relax. Save your tears for real angels. Not another fallen pixie on a first name basis with rehab.

Dear Carrie, I don’t even respond to those folks no more. They make me wanna choke their vocal chords with a rubber hose around their throat til it don’t open no more. My hope is so sore. You were like a bottle of lightning and right when I picked it up to read the message inside it, you disappeared avatar roku style. I’m supposed to be goku how, feel like Liam neeson’s only child, everything I’ve learned since you were taken has cost me everything, ouch.

Is this what heroes are made of? Cords of your soul washed up, in the devil’s tub, but you’re Heaven touched, so Excalibur, in those burning thumbs, cannot overcome, the Lord’s banner hung, over every rut or find a weakness or opening to make a clean cut! Being a villain would be way more easy. Which is why you are Princess Leia both on and off screen to me. All you did was fight for right… even when cuddling with your darker side.

And I admit I cried. When I got home that night. You were the last Jedi. By faulty roll of dice. I’m dreading number nine. Cuz that glory is your right! But who am I really mad at? Me for playing it safe? Or you for living your life? Your legacy lives forever. Like Benjamin Franklin’s kite. And if I’m being Frank, I ain’t feelin too hot, dog, cuz the bark is fearsome, but I’m scared I’ll be all alone if I don’t leash this bite…

**sigh**

Dear Carrie, I’m working on it. Even in my peace of mind a piece of me is going bonkers.

Cuz you’re still not here.

So many loved you, almost none of us deserved you, but I heard lately from a woman of wondrous virtue that it’s not about deserve ooh. It’s about what we believe. And although I close my eyes and just scream cuz you not alive is obscene, when I open them again… there you are right next to beside me, auditioning for this musical, telling me to tell the truth.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Carrie Fisher drowned in moonlight, strangled by her own bra.

Oh God. It’s been so long. I was supposed to be leaping to safety, but instead I wrote a whole song. Well if I die, don’t tell them that I died. Regardless of how I go, I want it reported that I-

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River’s Choice

The river used to flow for me.

Tired and worn down, lips cracked with the merciless blood leaks of ambition… the dry riverbed would flow for me. Would grace me with the refreshing honor of parching my thirst and revitalizing my skin.

My invitation was open ended like the fat man’s appetite, never rescinded like glory in the afterlife, I would often make my way there after night. Hidden in shadow but spied by the discretion governed pale eye of the moon. Under cover of light and darkness I would whisper the gray of my heart out and the river would flow for me. Into my mouth, over my brain, through my eyes, across my back…

I was never ashamed to be broken because I knew the river’s affection for me began in eternity and continued on into forever.

Very often it was the weight of identity in my mind which drove me to my knees in defeat… needing the coolness of the river, but forcing myself to endure the heat. Desert sand began to define me like a dictionary written in braille with seashells in hand. I couldn’t see well enough to stand. Burden bigger than the sea whale Hancock threw off the land.

I collapsed at the river for healing again…

But that day my awareness of my neediness and spoiled gain played against me…

The river doesn’t flow for me anymore.

On Two Legs in the Afternoon

Boy sees girl.

Boy makes a friend.

Boy and girl are happy.

Boy sees girl.

Girl has cooties.

Boy chases, and boy runs.

Girl runs, and girl chases.

Dude sees girl.

Girl is attractive and giggles.

Dude doesn’t know how to feel.

Dude sees girl.

Girl is hot and pays him no mind.

Dude wants to give her a shot.

Ol’ dude sees girl.

Girl knows she is seen.

Ol’ dude has only one aim…

Man sees woman.

… MAN sees WOMAN…

… And the woman’s gaze comes to rest on the man.

–now make your own ending–

**

~The Wordsmith

Bone Tired

Fatigue is a curious creature.

In the one second it seems all consuming…

Until a tide of emotion rolls through.

Then it rides the wave’s crest back out into the blue.

It can scream at you…

GO TO SLEEEEP!!

Then when you acquiesce, rest bereaves you…

Such is the nature of fatigue.

It cuts at your consciousness until you bleed…

Plows the full area of your mind ’til you seed…

Weed the fatigue out of the garden of your ambition.

Be wary however, for overkill is Fatigue’s pet…

If Fatigue cannot take you for herself, then she shall have you spin yourself around and kill ya self.

… Yet she seems ever so sweet.

All she wants to do is lull you to sleep…

Lull you to sleep…

Lull you to- zzzzzzz…………………………………

**

~The Wordsmith