Mark Podesta - Valleys


Mark Podesta


I have reached a valley of disregard.

A valley of half-bit ideas. 

A valley of depressing realizations. 

Where my furrowed brow anchors cripplingly above the bridge of my nose.  There is a menacing crease that rides the middle of my conscience. 

I have shunned happiness, escaped attention, ducked pleasure and welcomed the black. All that is left is me, myself and misery. 

Me, myself and misery and me.




Eternally unimpressed and uninspired.  Lakes succumb to drought.  Decay encroaches and mold is growing inside my mind. 

I am complacent with the bitter, with the sour. 

The penetratingly wicked darkness of all things negative has infiltrated the far recesses of my psyche and sucked out everything that once had anything close to a pulse.

There is nothing but desolation, frustrations, and incompleteness.

Darkness flourishes and runs like rivers, abounding through my thoughts.  Memories of the wells of beauty that once glowed with ethereal warmth of creation begin to vaporize and disappear into the clouds of empty consciousness.