Micah Park Biffle

A Man Productive Man A constant teething of stress always bides my heart. As rigid thoughts of insufficiency crowd my mind. I become strung out like an animal hide to the high sun. Dehydrated of peace, of any serenity if I ever had any. I am a coastline of desolation as I always fear I have not done enough. Sopped in the downpour of sadness as I feel no closer to my accomplishments with every passing day. I am tough to my very second of each hour, of each minute. I may smile as I pass by, but guilt throngs my heart. Like a room two sizes too small for a hundred souls. Shoulder to shoulder my guilt aligns with my happiness, my serenity. Slowly pressing it out as I wake each morning. Becoming of victim of my own thoughts. Pressing myself to do better, but even when I do, it does not feel to be enough. I could write a million words a day and still feel insufficient in my endeavors. Rarely will you catch me not thinking of my next step, my next word, my next story. I create ne...

The Restoration of an (Outgoing) Introvert It's not that I don't want to see you, it's that I can't. I can't do this anymore, I am exhausted. Every waking hour, it is them, you, us, him, her, this that. A barrage of active minds in world I find wonderful but grow tired of. I am not dulled by your presence or any others. I am rather, drained, as one might be after excreting themselves in exercise. I need time to present my heart, my mind, with silence. With myself and myself alone. Allow me to play my instruments without an audience. Without the subtle hints that you want to do something else. Let me be quiet for moments to come and let time fade between the bones of my flesh. Trickling through like atoms of earth. I need to bring nourishment from the quiet waning of stillness. No motion, but the beating of my heart. No sound, but the calming of my thoughts. I love....you, all of you as I did yesterday, but today, today I am spent of vitality. I am rece...

There is pain in us all, feel it, express it, grow from it A Man's Traveled Heart The Loathing Of A Monday Its Monday, I pull my sheets from my body with lethargic disappointment. My eyes gradually sinking to the floor to see the hurdled mess I must overcome. My throat dry, my mind in a groggy haze of sleep. And as I slide my feet to the floor the cool care nibbles at my skin. I express my discomfort of the morning with a sigh of resentment. Pressing myself off my bed I stand with a slight slouch of the back. I start to walk, and as I walk I let my eyes tirelessly follow the smudges and scrapes that flourish the wooden floor. It is still somewhat dark in the house. I mind it not as it keeps me in a state of dreamlike existence. As if I have yet to face the reality that is today. But as I enter the bathroom, I am forced to light the torch, instantly I regret its intense glow. Flickering shadows of my tired frame, my silhouette looking of a ghastly ghoul. After resisting...

The Death Of The Impolite Ardinal, Upon his arrival places his bags by the concierge desk. His eyes scanning the hotel with an utmost pretentious glare. Seeking deficiencies in the hotels composition, snarling under his breath at the most minuscule defects. A mere bulb is out in the chandelier that hangs with a magnificent purity of architecture. It hangs between the stairs of the hotel that leads upstairs as if open arms. His chest puffing in an appalling position. His hand tapping at his chin in command to find what else could be wrong in this place. He sniffs the air as if smelling a rose. Upon the ingestion of air, he smells a slight pungent smell, a smell of old cigarette smoke mixed with the now sweet scent of melon. Instantly he flares his nostrils in disgust. Covering his mouth, he makes a slight posture as if to upchuck in his throat. He turns his head back to the front desk and places his hand over the calling bell. He begins to vigorously press the palm of his han...