phantoms in the camera waiting pools with socks and shoes over my sanity drowns out riding in circles of green again for love or blues we can't understand white pale frames under bridges of plenty and cast ourselves hoping for range in quiet spools passed help on twenty floors.
Attention all: no longer shall I burden you with what ails me! No longer shall I proclaim bold stances, shout ill thought solutions, or type wary claims of clarity for all to see...
No… from now on, I will fill these pages with the fiction of my life, not the bare, hard, sad truth. Look to me no longer for soulful reflections, thoughtful dissertations, or peculiar confessions. The man known as Rob will no longer be an open book; nay, fine reader. “Closed indefinitely,” says the sign o’er my heart, for I’ve locked the door, with the key safely inside.
I now declare myself repressed, and better for it.
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