A Bad Sign

Writing emails in the late afternoon

is a bad sign.

The stress that arrests my chest before dawn.

The feeling I am right.

The worry I was wrong.

The injustice that sizzles my pride.

The truth is I’m along for the drive.

I’m just another passenger in a

funny clown car ride.

Can I eat enough crow to

survive the freak show?

Pretend I don’t know the

way the cycle of a couple

bad choices goes?

I release my clinched fist

and let the dice roll.

Β© 2023 | K.Hartless


  1. God! I’ve been there; a wrenched state to be in; you’re frazzled and freaked; but you will get on top of it, I’m sure πŸ™‚ the whole poem is perfect though I do love ‘the passenger in a clown car ride’ —


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