I’ve accumulated too much, and I want to strip it bare, but still, nowhere. What tickles my spine when the nerves in my fingertips go numb, and I‘m left here staring at blank pages waiting for the words to come. Or the answers, shouting orders so I don’t turn the psyche off and run.
I am inescapable, I am a throne to myself, my worst fears and enemies from foreign lands welcomed in by my own hand.
Staring at the clock hands, digitized, meeting unrealistic demands, to slow down and shut off, pushing the mountain closer to my feet, as the steep fall becomes dreadful. Attention to the distance, my footing as precarious as the unknown.
I fall, I fall. Until there’s only the breath left in the air. Acquiesce, all those who knew me here.
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.
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
Deep into the splintered void- where the days of our youth were made.
Our unfamiliar waves cast shades of rain,
now depraved- with no more or less from what was saved.
Floundering under frosted skies,
fleshed into salt from tired eyes.
Peered out into the open road and then threw out everything I owned.
It’s just not easy to talk to you- to look at you, and to only think of two
once the world falls away. What happens when you leave?
The novelty wore off, somehow we made it through the night anyway.
…and numbered days;
Tears blur through these eyes- perennially on the receiving end.
Slipping past the conscious mind
the remains of a conscience friend.
This hurts you more than me… but I have stared down this mirror before.
Suppose the sheen outlasted you.
What love can do.
But it steals the night too.
The morning leaves more uprooted, coffee grounds and drool,
wiped away with only bloodshot eyes to attend to.
Enough to make a difference when I stroked my hair- brittle and falling to the floor.
How pretty I must look in my old age…
It used to be different, staring out the window somewhere around 6th period Chemistry.
What became of me?
The fantasies created aren’t guaranteed.
The phosphor mild under the fluorescence and arid smell stimulating my need to flee.
No one rides for free, except for me.
The stretch of road leaves blisters,
where the soles tread- my soul to retreat.
I know you’ll be there with your shoulder so I can unload this weight.
The empathy of your neckline, your slight frame holding the warmth as if the sun blazed in the room. My infernal sigh is the only sound you need.
It doesn’t look so far from here,
the distance has no face, blank expressions unfurl on the horizon.
Mist and clouds and dusk mutate into sunrise-
and you can almost see the skyline drive.
I somehow always new,
I’d find my way out
this place where I left you