Glamorous

This storybook romance, as a kid who knew little.
A godless world of men/children and seekers of caves to hide,
cavemen, with little room for women inside
purchased on credit, a debt owed for no repentance
Prostitutes or strippers,
no discerning between the two,
sorry lives that hold only resentment.
Cash sale, and how did it fail,
who takes the blame for this execution?
If you only could stay, pardon the world for screwing you this way.
The mirror image, now growing old, way too tired to play along
your mind wanting to forget today
You can’t remember when you came alive
Only to be pronounced dead after such a short time.

Pictures torn from your past, the recluse, the lost years
singe hair and skin, old age spots… the sun no longer your friend

Platitudes & Past Tense

I can’t escape you, but I’ll give it my best shot.
Some things worth having and others not.
We hold on for dear life,
The saddest day, when its no longer right
A pile of regrets too high to climb,
shortened views and lost sight.
Shortsighted and backwards passage,
Clearing a channel I was stuck in for days.
White noise and the rhetoric of a sage
Heard through telegraphs and daydreams
No accounting for old age,
The indifference of sleepless nights,
I got used to long nights drawn out and psychotic rage.

Anger is a gift when used sparingly
I could use it repeatedly, the giving tree
And that sentiment fell on deaf ears
Something clear,
Bottled up and messages closed off
I sent an SOS to someone who wasn’t worth the loss
Of mindfulness and bullshit, the stinging rain
Down pouring sideways
Like my mind, I hold in contempt
But these feelings belong to me
And they’re all I have left

Fear of Falling (13th & Chestnut)

I am a sunbeam- a laser beam, the terror stream
Relentless and unborn
Ripped the cap of too many Olde E’s
Stripped the sidewalk, battle worn, re-born (again)
so I can tear myself apart
“You don’t have the guts” she said,
far too gone to start
maimed, and pulled back from the ledge
where I saw my roommates and good friends teeter on the verge, feet across the edge
foolish youth and the sad things we dread.

Me, peering from the scourge
too many memories, not so fond
(A learning process to just hold on)
Long enough to pull me apart and leave me there
crouched in the background, my idle mind
with the empty bottle, the soul to purge,
what was left to keep- what’s yours is yours, what’s yours is mine
The nearest life bleeding and new life, new breathe found
and the cold winter air.
I promised myself that would BE THE LAST TIME!

I don’t want either of you to die, plummet nine stories below.
So I’ll hold you up in mind, my memory careening, inaction;
left on the ledge, afraid to leave
equally terrified to live.

The last man on Earth

I wasn’t meant to feel good today.

That may have been a few days ago. Memories blur… I forget what you look like by now.

Maybe I felt I had value earlier today- serviceable, existing.

But it only takes one leak, one dip under the rising tide and a pissed off sea,
too rampant to care.

Constant trepidation and I can’t figure this out.
There are no open sores, just recoil
and wait for the next wave.

I sink and sink, deeper and deeper and this is the only outlet I have right now.

Or I’m just thinking out loud to myself.

I wasn’t meant to feel good today.

Sync

Feed me oxygen one more time and when I wake I will feel like hell.
You can’t promise to take this away and despite my best efforts, the feeling remains- and I am electric.
I can still taste that on my palate, and vanguard my heart.

Take me along, relax and let the nausea gut you from the inside- it’s only temporary.
I forgave the former me to rediscover the new me
and they look the same, but damn does the feeling stretch into another year, another day…count the hours to the end.

Forgive me for all my terror-
what it looks like to the outside world and I feel your pulse removing me from myself.

Fitfully, break this fit in tremors and levies. I’m alive again
but there’s no guarantees…

What the Room looks like When you Leave

Someday you’ll understand.
Maybe I don’t.
I just know when you leave, I’m always back where I started.
The dim lights, shadows and creeping in the corners of the room,
always waiting & wanting.
The sunshine relents.

My boys look so innocent in this pose,
and I can’t replace the feelings of those close.
We’re all ghosts.

Someday you’ll understand– all the booze and loose women, no critics to laugh at you, you bonehead.
Just the sound of your own voice.
Laughter as medicine, haha, but that’s a joke.
That’s what life looked like, out the window and friends you had are ghosts too- in dreams, at the grocery store, maybe even that bar down the street.

But I don’t drink anymore, I don’t leave with strangers and I simply am no fun.
Someday you’ll understand.

One more seizure, one more pulse;
I am electric.
All my memories of this time
will dissolve into thin air…

They never quite disappear.

Humility on my mind, on your knees one last Time

I don’t know what I’m doing.
So what.

This is indigestible. The movement of my guts.
Shifting of the heart into throat and the burn of acid where air once flowed.
Sour taste-
The way I felt when we parted ways.

Look at me now. You’d be so proud.
But what’s left of us?
The scenery is stifling and your breath once draped around my neck.
Tight like thighs in late night dives and the satisfaction was that last cigarette.

Get off your hands and knees.
I’ll clean up the mess this time.
You couldn’t hold it all inside,
and you refused to swallow.
I don’t blame you.

I can’t digest no more, and I thought I was the whore.
That was a smokescreen.
I’m lost.

Release me back into the wild.
The streets are alive.
I will always come crawling back.