On The Trail

The pressure of being back on the trail,
Committed to this road again,
By my own pressure, desire, intent.
I know what I should do,
But the anxiety grabs me,
Shakes my neck,
Implores me to run away.
And if I give up, back down,
The pressure leaves, but after,
I feel defeated, an empty coward.
So before I give up,
I must remember that feeling,
And use it to act,
To speak,
For to know defeat by others,
Is better by far,
Than to defeat oneself.

Clean Break

The beautiful smell of you,
Has lingered all day in my bathroom,
Like a phantom,
That I wish would reappear.
The perfume of your body wash,
Rolls over me in waves,
And my mind misbehaves,
Every time I climb the stairs.
You conditioner conditioned me,
To think of a wet soapy hand,
In ways you wouldn't understand,
At least not from my mind.
Your shampoo has washed away, but...
I smell the memory that you left,
And like a sweet recurring theft,
I know again, that you are gone.