Message wishing well
Remained without reply.
There could be a hundred reasons why,
But only time will tell
Which holds and which are pared away:
Sunny day, she went out to play.
Hearing a bell,
Afraid of for whom it tolls,
She hid beneath a stack of bed rolls.
Still unwell,
Too sick to move,
Too far removed from her daily groove.
Flames to quell,
House now ash,
Batteries drained too fast.
Riding atop a tiger through a dell,
Durga at her side,
She went into the fray and died.
Boarding, she fell;
Now wearing a cone,
Paramedics lost her phone.
Sulphur smell,
Evacuated in haste;
Neighborhood in natural gas encased.
Going through hell,
No desire to talk,
At communication balks.
Overdosed on kale,
Her face turned pale then blue,
The Heimlich no one knew.
Heard a cowbell
On a mountain side,
In pursuit still, ’tis why she hadn’t replied.
The story Occam’s razor sells:
Far less glamorous,
Nothing cadaverous;
Internet is unwell,
Or notifications don’t show
Due to settings overflow.
© 2021 H.K. Longmore
Musings of a Kunderian Monster 
The Impact of Therapy on Creative Writing
I often write poetry as a form of therapy. But, I have found in recent months that, some events or feelings for which I would have written a poem, instead I have made a note of it, under a heading “to bring up with my therapist.”
It need not be this way. Longer ago, further back, I would write the poem, and then discuss the poem with my therapist.
One such event that I took to therapy without writing a poem happened at the end of October, after a concert I performed in, involving the delay my brain sometimes has in processing inputs. I talked about it with my therapist at my next therapy session. But as a result, there’s no poem. I’m going to rectify that soon, and will add the link when I do.
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Posted in commentary, journal
Tagged cathartic, communication, therapy