And for some reason
At the depth of it all
I have fallen back into
the deepest groove of my own suffering.
I do not know how or why
this pain has come back.
Or why it refuses to leave.
at the bottom of everything
I am surrounded --
By perfect monstrous silence
Echoing gently the constant reminder
Of my own isolation.
I haven't felt this alone in years.
At least not consciously so.
Face to face with failure:
The deepest kind of suffering.
The very essence of sadness.
The darkest part of darkness.
Nothing but this:
Alone again as always
Living always in a tortured instance.
The world isn't so bad
But the experience itself
Is a whole different thing.
I'd rather die right now
than walk inside and put on a happy face.
Splice myself open and drain away.
The inexplicable suffering of my life
Has taken hold of me
Always and forever.
I wonder why this always happens.
you spoke without speaking
i spoke without thinking
and as the final desperate words
killed what could have been kept
we smoked in silence outside
you gave me the last drag
but I declined
you took one more
and we resigned
and the first cold rain of the year
fell just a few hours later
Middle class tragicomedy turning darker everyday
breaching past the line of typical dysfunctional
with every dark blue bottle of vodka and
orange plastic pharmaceuticals fraudlently prescribed
black swollen bruises on mom's face
fucked up you asleep drink in hand
with the tv still on drink
while mom cried in the youngest's child's bed
the eldest kicked out for doing drugs
me on the bathroom floor learning how to disembowl a razor
and carve it into my flesh.
West Texas camping trip when you bought a motorcycle
and said have fun
and I crashed into a ditch
and snapped my leg in half
and the helmet flew off
did you know that if you hit your head hard enough
everything before and after will feel like a dream?
and that's when it all got darker
as a 15 year kid dying in West Texas
having lost his will to live 1 year earlier on a plane leaving California
waking up in an ambulance
remembering nothing but knowing two things.
My name is Kyle, something bad has happened.
Born again in a hospital bed
surrounded by strangers claiming to be family.
Leg bones snapped in half
then drilled with titanium
and the pain never went away
not for a second
you took all of my pain pills
you held the medical bills over my head
you told me that it was my fault that I crashed
and yes it was my fault
but I didn't buy the fucking bike
and I didn't want to ride the fucking bike
and you can say whatever you want
because I'm crippled now
and my memory is broken
and I have a headache that doesn't go away
but deep in this broken body of mine
there's a silence that speaks for itself
there's a sadness that doesn't hate itself anymore
there's a tear that refuses to fall
there's a hatred reserved only for you
there's a love born out of spite
a beautiful tortured brilliant love
with room for everyone but you my loving father
my loving oblivious father
sick brained hateful father
and me your victim limping away
from the scene of your crime
that was my childhood.
Hope doesn't perch.
Hope isn't a smiling face
among a dismal crowd.
Hope isn't the light at the end
of the tunnel.
Hope is when the crows
grow full from the carrion of
a dead lamb and rest.
Hope is when the old man
having forgotten himself years ago
falls asleep one last time.
Hope is everything you've needed
after you didn't need it anymore.
Hope is the time after the noose tightens
and before you fade away.