Micah Park Biffle

 The Endeavors shall Reward  Its is easy to fall behind, to let things get away from you. One minute you are ahead and the next, things come crashing down. Now you are in a rubble of stress and trying to compile everything to where you can at least start to organize.   Then, when you start to organize, you realize you have missed a few more things. You fall behind  even more. Anxiety starts to manipulate your thoughts into wild distortions. You now feel even more stressed, for a moment you thought you were almost back in order.   But a wolf came by, while you were busy rebuilding your barnyard only to find that sheep missing from your herd. You find the blood, but no victims. You now panic, as you have lost a piece of your resources. You feel the world around you constrict like a rope tightening around your throat.   The clouds above turn grey, it begins to rain. You become seemingly uncomfortable. You want to break down, to fall apart and l...

My Life At the Edge   My life's on edge, a vertical swing. I see the stars from which I cling, staring to the ground and wonder how it will feel, when I fall, I'm sure it will sting. All the while my heart sits at edge, slipping, I sing. Allowing a fantasy to be, pretending there is nothing that is aching.  My bones creak as the shadows creep. Coldness flows upon each step and I shiver as I weep. I have yet to feel clean, no matter the wash, I wish to glow. Always asking, why me, why the sudden stop of what made me happy? I bend with twists and turns as life is what ever it will be.  I turned my tongue from complaints, to high aim. Adding new strings to my instrument as my soul sits in its sling. Pondering a new place to live, to breathe, to be. But there is no escaping, breaching what leaves us both babbling at the edge.  No more terrible aiding of sour lips. No more firing from the hips, yet here I am blocked by what ever is behind this mist. I mis...

Two Steps Back, One Step Forward Forward, only to step back. To fall once again into a prism of frustration. Feeling your skin tighten as if it is not yours. Everything becoming an obstacle, even those you love. Beginning to detest the very grounds you walk upon. The world feels as if you are standing against titans. Waging an endless war just to keep your chest beating. Hoping that tomorrow will be just a little less of hell. That the coals that burn beneath your feet will cool; if only for a moment. At times you feel a frozen tundra would be more welcoming than this blazing horizon. Putting out one fire only to see another rise. Watching as the home you built become charcoal for the devil to brew its feast. Falling back from the two steps forward. So close, arms reach; but as your fingers tips caress the lips of your dreams, everything shatters. Walls come crumbling down, you breathe with inane sense to let it all collapse. To allow the flames to leave no ruins of your...

A Scarecrow Soul I know not what is left, nor where I'm trying to go. Everything has become dull, no longer do I glow. I am a dying star that fades between the moon and the sun. Afraid to shine for I feel I have nothing left to grow. A field of empty souls is all I seem to know. I am but a broken vase tossed from the comfort of my shelves. I am shattered, battered by the hands of my own ghetto. Dancing in the dim limbo of dead crows, ergo, I am a feast for death. But thought is still brought, though I wish to breathe nothing. I clamber to be a maestro of the infernal, for there, I feel I have something to follow; an end. My ego sits hung from the hollow halls of my rotted chateau. Plastered like a Fresno I crumble with no caring of my colors. Stretched out, my mind weak, I tread upon a plateau. Flat, empty, stranded in an abyss as I stand in the middle. A scarecrow, a symbol to advert the whispers of light. Drained myself dry of marrow; given to the damned. My soul, n...

Tears For A Beautifully Wretched World These tears, pull them from my eyes. Pluck them as if they are roses, but be careful their thorns. Do not mix blood with their innocence. For it is I who has held them for far too long. Stowing them away as if useless. Neglected have they been, burdening my eyes with sorrow. Heavy, in the sweet scent of rain have they become. But I cannot release them on my own. Pull back the lids of my eyes and pry them from where I have chained them. Do not fear the pain you shall cause, for much, is old. If you must, plug the canals of your ears if my screams will bring horror upon your listening. Long has this pain waited to be heard. No longer to be shuddered by my attempts to keep it silent. Do not fear the agony from each nail you shall draw from my eyes. Rusted they may be, from the misery that has soiled them. Causing sickness to my view, I, becoming ill set on believing the disease that has immured my happiness. I have become a casket for the d...

This Emerald Glow Has An Empty Soul  I look in the mirror and no longer do I see the eyes of emerald glow. I see, a shriveled mass of flesh and bone. Pathetically portraying what I once was. Now, all that lays before me is a desolate shell, a hollow canvass that echoes like the ocean. But I amass no creatures within, no creations to be found. I have withered in my possession of self. I have become complacent in my doings and derailed myself from action. I have crashed upon an empty shore, only to stare in desperation that a wind will carry me home. But I am no fool, I know no wind will carry my feet or will lift my wings. I have consciously forsaken my path in pursuit of ill pastime. I am far from the words I speak, I have skipped the beats of my heart. And now listen to the dull voices in my head. Sloth, has overcome my willingness to be. I have ruptured the beautiful landscape that was before me. And I have left it, in a pollution of stagnate thought.  These f...

Fallen To Society  It starts out grand, glorious, magical, with a slight hint of reality. All things are new, all things transpire in extraordinary breath. Our eyes gleam with excitement with each passing day. Till we no longer can remain in shuttering struggle to stay awake. Even the stars are miraculous, bleeding with a stupendous view. Leaving not a moment for us to think the world is otherwise.  Our innocents compliments our curiosity, though we may find ourselves behind a pointed finger of anger. Only to end up with a smile so splendid, those that care, but must punish, can no longer remain riddled with temper. We charm our way with pleasant laughter and doughy eyes. We find our hearts to brim with happiness, with most ambitious dreams. And when we learn to speak, though limited it may be. We become an adventure of why. Seeking answers though we may have no sense. Only to antagonize the elders to feel the limits of their patience. And unknowingly, we become m...

Here, in front of me stands a mirror. Its gleams with pristine cleanliness as I drag my eyes faithfully along its edges. Wondering, what purpose does it truly have, is this but another view of what I am? Searching Is Not The Answer  I retract my eyes from its edges allowing sullied breath to sink into my lungs. I release this breath with an odd sense of curiosity as breath settles upon the mirror. Now, with breath upon this mirror, I watch, as it fades almost instantly. As if disdained upon my presence. Only to leave in an almost translucent outline upon the glass. And again, my thoughts wander upon the condensation of my breath.  And in watching it fade, I ponder, with intellectual eagerness , am I but not a breath from the universe, from God? Slowly fading upon the reaction of molecules and the designers final stroke of the brush. Am I not but a reflection of what another has drawn, for what naturalism can create such perfection mixed with such disaster? Playi...

This Is Me Without Creativity  This is but me without my creativity. My unwillingness to accept that not all days can be filled with perfect brevity. That some days come buried in the not so extraordinary. Where imagination is no longer merry, where my words seem to fall weary. Where I cannot seem to connect my soul to my brain. In a place that I have lost what was once perfect aim. Where words would connect without the a tongue that wishes to complain. This is me without the ability to tame. The ability to connect words that may make one seem insane. But that is where I find words that never sound the same. Where words collide in whirls like tornadoes that are looking to claim. I am not a writer for fame, but a writer to stay insane. To connect words that make me never wish to be plain. To never fall in the sewers of blame and become a dim candle in a forgotten home. This is me without the perfect tone, without the perfection of my fingers laced in chrome. Where I con...

Evil Will Always Breathe Evil exists beyond our comprehension, it exists as feelings do, as love does. No measurement, no math can explain these things. Evil is sly with motives, filthed with no shame. Its heart engorged in blood lust, in anger, evil has no reason. As does the existence of smiles, there is the opposite. As does the existence love, there is the counter. Evil has no conformed form. It lives within the splice of the physical, of the spiritual. It drips upon those whom swallowed sorrow like a pill. With each drip slowly rusting the soul like metal to harsh rain. Till the soul can move no more, till it becomes particles of what it once was. left rusted with holes and bland in color, its once exuberant essence, now absent. Taken by the shrewdness of evil and evil cannot be explained and never should be. For the explanation of that which is intangible, will drive one to madness. Losing sense of faith, belief, and the strive for something beyond. Turning blind...

Anxiety,  I see you, I feel you, I taste you.  I see you anxiously waiting to feed my thoughts with a crippling tongue. Separating my focus to my stresses, hindering my understanding to be me. I feel you gripping my throat with sharp hands, holding firm so I may not breath. Leaving me lost of words, making a fool to a peering eyes, entertained I see, by the building of my demise. I taste you on my lips, on my tongue, tingling like the injection of a needle. Numbing my capacity to pronounce my thoughts, my ideas, my dreams.  I see you crawling defenseless from the abyss of disease. Falling at my feet, fooling me as if you are broken and need of home. Only to burden my shoulders and steal the fruits of my labor and you speak, as if you will never be gone. And I see you laugh with thrill as you watch my mangled thoughts keep me locked. Pulling each from the other like tangled twine. Only to find that you have tied knots to each side. I see you chattering among e...

You are about to read a small snippet of how I felt and saw depression. The thoughts it created and the destruction it caused my soul. But also my realization of what I found it to be.  Where do I begin was a tough question to answer. I knew I wanted to change my life but I didn't  know where I should start. I didn't like the way I was living, I didn't like the fact I woke up everyday feeling as if I was trapped under a dark cloud. Everything felt miserable, the mere idea of getting out of bed was nearly impossible. My body, my mind, felt trapped under my sheets, like weighted chains were dominating my strength. I could hear voices in my head screaming for me to get up. But those voices were drowning in a sea of my own filth. It took only one voice to keep me there. And that voice was no stronger than the other voices, but it had more logic as to why I should stay in bed. The voices that told me to get up, that's all they ever said. They never gave reason to t...

-A Soul- I sit, I sit, I sit, I sit. Here we are, we sit. Our hearts no longer fit. You ignored the consequences of your own misfit. You burden me further as if nothing to omit. We must talk behind closed doors with a watchful eye. My soul unlit. Where have you gone and what have you done…. Why have you made it here,  I feel echoes of my voice as if to be falling in a mindless pit. I think what hell this has become. Numb, as I sit. Where we must sit, I sit, we sit. Locked in a room and you lost in it. This heart I had for you, lost. I try to find it. I try to cast it. But the connection is no more, it has split. Please let me rest and place you no more as a burden upon my chest. ---------------------------------------------------------- It was no more burdensome from the first call or the second, they were both a tell-tale of mistreated life. His heart split, but only for a moment, as if he knew one day this would come. His ...

I'm not going to lie, writing is a huge passion of mine but it can be a struggle to start writing. I sometimes wish that my thoughts could just write themselves. It gets overwhelming with the idea of having to put my thoughts and creations onto paper. I worry that I am going to make something terrible or that I wont do enough writing in the day to get to where I want to be. Some days are even worse than others, like today. Today I wanted to relax and hold off on writing. Actually, I didn't want to relax, I wanted to give up, to stop, to throw away my writing and raise the white flag in exhaustion of tears. Many may think that is a contradiction to something that I hold immense passion to. You might think, if you are passionate about it, why would it be tough to do? I'll tell you why, I hold myself up too high of standards of what I believe is good work. I tend to put myself in a position where my results better be outstanding, or what is the point in doing it? Another rea...