What the Curtain Hides

I want you to save me. Gone for a moment, to live in eternity. Looking-glass-self. Become someone else.

Strange to see you here now. Wayward travelers spanning lost freedoms, now one with the world. Closing in.

Small enough to see the end.

Comparing how I felt. All of those precious moments competing at once. For a single moment.

You’ll forget me when I leave this place.

This curtain hides me well, drapes around my wrists, where they once became fists. Tired of the relentless beating of my own defects. Much softer around my neck.

Hidden until eternity comes.

 

 

 

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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.

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…