things that cling and stick to me
things I cannot shake.
the tremors that leave me stumbling
unable to walk straight lines.
it is not in the light of day
that I struggle to connect the dots.
it is when the shadows fall down low
that I fall between the cracks.
it is in the corners and crevices
that I have learned to hide.
like a spider that skips away
from the edge of the sweeping broom.
under the legs of tables
or that ever rocking chair.
weaving a web of intricate lines
that never reveal their truth.
last night in a dream
I saw rows of bottles lined up on the floor.
and no one in the room
would ask what they were for.
avoidance was the underlying
metaphor of the dream.
again back to the premise
of hiding it all away.
perched in this corner here in my web
catching unwitting prey.
walking, obliviously close
to a dangerous place to be.
unseen evil a present threat
honesty has slipped through the cracks.
I’m even lying to myself now
in this wickedly scripted play.