Mired

A spectre, floating, creeping behind
Common, familiar, but no friend
It inches purposefully forward
To block life, so to descend

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In a crowd but alone, so dismissing
Not an island but an isthmus
Begets sense of loss and missing
As when lights fade after Christmas
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I was hoping to take them,
Minimally, by sudden said storm,
But my efforts blatantly blocked
By Lifers, so, intent without form
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Please… don’t break from my grip.
Senses sting… poisoned as I slip
Into toxicity of jobless causticity.
So cruel… back in this grisly cesspool
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Taking ugly odds, handsome chances,
I defied doom, being quite deft,
But no longer, can’t, as I lost count
How many of my nine lives I have left

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Much quicker than thought…
It can’t be bought or taught,
As it accompanies forethought
To help sidestep the onslaught.
Instinct.

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#micropoetry