Saga.

chester maynes

I bring myself home
from a place where
solitude is a friend.

I fade myself from
the usual crowd that
I used to know.

I cringe on my
bed when thoughts
desolate my mind.

I pick some stones
and throw them in
the water.

I shut my mouth
from telling stories
of my ghosts.

I rattle my walls
that disturb my
habitation.

I contemplate with
gusto until my guts
tell me to stop.

I close my door
while listening to
myself loud enough.

I write and write
what I feel and
I never lie.

2015

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