The empty nourishment of tears and blood

Empty-full shell of a twice hollowed weight
More-blind eyes as a curtain falls, billowing to the hard ground
More-blind, more blood, blood on blood.

Fallacious-niceties of the outstretched be-clawed hand
Shaken, not stirred, but shaking it will still do you no good,
Fill no rivers, heal no hearts, fly no birds.

Piled-high mountains of dirty laundry, though they ask "what dirtiness? There is no dirt there, nothing reflected in the pools at our feet".

Knowing-not, knowing not knowing not
The oils that burst from tiny cells on the surface of a bent orange-peel.

Blood-blind, bedazzled by mirages of the jewels that form in red red splashes upon love-thirst earth,
Feed me feed me
Give me not this bitter-pain drink.

Until then, Nothing is likely

The odds are against you,
But that is not so,
They do not exist until you win
-or lose
But even then,
Whatever happens has a 100% chance of happening,
And nothing else exists.
There is no such thing as odds,
And chance is not chance if it comes to pass.

Light, shadow, and snow

Ice Feathers

Not that great, but perhaps you get the idea...

Worst kind of writer's block;

The thing I want fills
my eyes, my hands are tied back
How to free myself?

Irony, or some such thing, don't much care right now.

I'm trying to figure out if I should want to write like other people, or if I should just like writing like I already do.
I think I'm going to stick with wanting to write like other people, because that sentence was horrible.

What is Left

His bowl sits empty
Snow covers yard, no water
For him to drink

Analogies

Before me sits a blank page, an invitation to write, black ink to form letters to express invisible, silent thoughts.
Slowly, this blank page is filling up, a cup half full against gravity. Or rather I should say that the words and the space they begin to occupy is more like a waterfall, letters tumbling down a white page like water down a rock face.
Like a curtain drawn down, the ending punctuation to a performance, but in this case, the curtain is drawn down as the performance; when it has hit the bottom of the page, the show will be over. The curtain covers an empty stage, the curtain is actors, set, lighting, narrator all wrapped up into one rather than merely being an end.
This paper is now more than half full, more than three-quarters full, and filling up fast. The waterfall will soon hit the basin, the cup will be nigh unto overflowing, and the curtain will soon touch the bottom.
No longer blank, this paper is now a story.

Life Lesson One

Don't think you can always help people. If they want your help -if they are open to your ideas and advice, they will ask for it, and only then will you actually have any effect on them.
Don't barge into people's privacy to give them your help, it is their pain, their heart and mind, their home and their feelings. You don't know the whole story; you, quite honestly, don't know how to help them.
There is nothing you can do until you are invited to do something. They probably don't and won't need your help.
Until they do, they will find a way; they are strong. They need their own pace, their own space; it's not your life, it's theirs. Don't think you have the permission to try to change it.