When the Dust Settles Your Ashes are Already Gone

This is a powder keg.
I’m sitting with my legs tucked in,
arms wrapped tight,
thinking is exhausting,
extinguish the light.

stop me if you’ve heard this one before

Or light the fuse, at least then I’ll know,
shifting weight, stark details, should’ve left here long ago.
Blank slate, daylight, somersault, afterglow.

This is a powder keg.
Emotive fuse that I own.

The ash and residue exhaust the horizon.

U+Me= Holding On

Everybody moves on.
I keep holding on.
Vice grip blues.
I hold onto you, but you never turned your head to see me.
We thought on the same plane, I existed once
maybe that was my defect. Seems personal now.
But it’s not your problem, you just kept walking
into the sun- or maybe an impasse and then a rest stop to thank the ground for keeping pace
I wanted you to wait for me. I could hear the shuffle of feet
You never said goodbye.
You never told me you’d miss me.
The days stretched into years.
I’m still waiting here.

Victim Statement Editorial

Lay down, the past, underneath,
a crumbled blanket to sleep,
the sidewalk,
you pass quickly on the skyline,
things look better from a distance.
I’m on the other side, a hapless byline
in a ‘choose your own adventure’ book.
I’m watching you drift by-
no more “hello’s”,
niceties falling short, failing us,
the plight of children caught between.
They’ll be ok, kids always are, resilient, tactile,
raw emotions blanked out by playgrounds and Fruit Loops.

Somebody saw me in a crowd, alone,
Nothing even worthwhile
toddlers crowding the stage, lights and heat,
the burgeoning distance where no one can see
-a situation where every instinct let me down.
This auditorium couldn’t hold all my angst.
Angst. Just another word that = I feel sorry for myself.
How I disappointed, but never my intention.
My face blank, I see you and your paternal crutch
and mine, nowhere near here.

Thank god, at least I have a chance now.
I see your face, or faces, dependent on which mood,
weighed in, quality over quantity I guess.

Just stop glaring at me for once.
This isn’t a party for me either.
Despite how your mind grasps at straws
your painted fingernails chipped, resembling claws
and an array of scars
ripple across what’s left of my heart.
We have plenty of baggage for another trip,
let’s empty the contents into someone else’s life.

We’ll never be the same, I’m over here and you’re there
and it was never how it started, but where we left off.
This auditorium, filled with strangers,
filled with people, maybe I said “hi” to them once,
in an effort to relate.
But that’s a poor excuse
and not worth the wait.
Spanning 41 years, awkward smiles, and tears
just in private though.
I’d hate for you to see me as I am.

Troll along, who cares where you go-
the box will keep you neatly in bounds.
People Magazine, Starbucks and cashed in 401k’s.
Looks like a prison from here.
How did it end this way??
I remember.
I just got up and left.

…and me
somewhere in the back aisle,
wishing the whole place was gone.
or is it already ?
The emergency exit within a few sprints to the sidewalk.
Running away, running for my life
or just looking for the next victim.

Trivia (dad’s day)

I’m getting used to feeling this way and choosing to feel nothing at all…

Passing offensive fodder through your skull,
it makes me sad when I think about us.
Dad, I don’t know you- it’s not like I don’t care,
the broken spiderweb,
mayflies torn of wings, left to die,
and the flow interrupted by the ebb
If your ears syphon it in and exhale,
it only ends up pressure in my head– a burden I don’t need,
and definitely don’t want,
tripping over mountains- we couldn’t scale from one side to the other.
We weren’t meant to understand what life is like without.
This nonsensical twisted lingual stretched to capacity
the nerve of me as an individual, and the audacity
my raw nerve and the nerve endings, folding in on themselves.

Just tell me you love me and let go of yourself
your old self, and the scattered ideas that shift and inseminate the open air,
where people who once cared,
can’t be forced to be anywhere near.

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