Verse Versus Self

I took this book down from the shelf;
it called itself
self-help with
an addiction to twists.

Once it had me in its grip,
every slight was a story
and each assailant

pill was
a prophecy,
proving harder to
watching each
successive chapter
mangle happily ever
after to

(The volumes on villainy require more
impressionable sets
of eyes, for their
motives are less black
and white than mine.

My soul was born colour blind,
no armistice between
malice and misguidance.)

But for all the subtle

a rehabilitation
rose from that
garden of prose, where
wind speaks in
whispers and
blossoms collapse
in droves.

Something charming there
in a way the addict in
me opposed or merely
missed before.

In a life you’re
everything, it’s
easy to assume there will
always be
something more.

One thought on “Verse Versus Self

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s