Indefinitely dangling
from an ambiguous thread.
Not falling behind.
Not getting ahead.
Just flailing about
in the suffocating air.
Waiting for the rain
in a dizzying despair.
Needing any escape
from this saturated prison
and its birds-eye view of my
Immortal Indecision.
Love the flow here.
this form is nice, reads easily, but not too easily… and I experienced this as I read it. Winner!
Thanks ladies!
It’s weird but as I was writing this, it conjured images in my mind of myself as a small creature, dangling on a spider web from a gigantic leaf overlooking a beautifully chaotic rain forest. Probably not how anyone else pictured it, and certainly not what inspired me as I was writing, so I thought it was strange that that was the image I was left with. It’s funny how a poem can have multiple meanings/interpretations, even for the author.
Beautifull!
He follows his path. The path becomes his prision, his self made prision. Which includes his painfull indecision.
Yes. Self-made prison is precisely correct.
Dear soul, my first thought after reading this was that
you were a spider. Then I think “Black Widow”, and Alice Cooper.
Isn’t it funny how we get ’strung out’ by our own threads?
It’s no wonder then, that there is no escaping
the madness of the web’s we weave in soul-itude.
Ironic because
I dread and loathe spiders.
And their webs,
though undeniably beautiful,
can be quite itchy
if you’re not expecting them.
There is much condemn-sation in soul-itude.
So I read the title as “Condom” and not “Condemn.” And of course the first line is about dangling. I thought you’d written an ode to the penis.
I was like, back off sista! 
LMAO. You are always misreading my words! And it is always hilarious! But believe me, if I wrote an ode to the penis, it would sound a lot different. Hmmm. Now I might have to write one…
If you do it, I’ll do it!
thanks for sharing. great work.