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.
A selfish act to want you back
or dwell on memories that don’t make sense.
One day won’t make difference to how I view
the world and go quietly into some snowy eve, break my fall
and then you leave.
Can’t help but want you back,
It’s a movie of my life I’m watching
all the reviews suck
no royalties, no trailers to come; just dumb luck
The return of disillusion- breaks and broken,
couldn’t live without,
“happy holiday”, now go back to sleep
Doesn’t mean the same when the years slip quietly by into the night, or the light-
it’s all darkness and the sleigh bells fall away from earshot:
I drift backwards from the anesthesia drip
might as well be that last shot of hard liquor that cascades across my
To all a good night,
this lonely parched winter…
life has all you need
when you let go
of what you don’t
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.