It's 2 in the morning and I'm still awake,
drinking alone, again.
It's not like I have the most interesting job to wake up to
I just deliver words to people's homes
and get chased by dogs every now and then  
wondering if they got bad news or not
and how they feel about it

At night, I deliver the words to myself
With the pen in my hand, staining the paper
crafting each word with stories of days that passed me by
Sitting in the dark writing while others are standing
out there in the cold harsh reality, living and breathing
expecting release
but never did much to achieve that freedom
aside from complaining about it every single day
I never did much either
Maybe I got so used at being a prisoner
That the idea of freedom seems more like a myth
than something we all deserve

After I finished my final bottle, the last of its kind
I walked out and went home, hoping I did my best to drown
my demons and my feelings
It's not until I reached my door that I realized they fucking know how to swim
and they do it so well I might as well let them

I decided I don't want to go home
It's hardly a home anyway
It's just a bunch of furniture crammed in a room
So I would feel less empty


With my pen and my paper I walked
my footsteps behind me echoing until they too,
became silent
I threw my keys into the ocean
and should anyone find it, I hope they won't be disappointed
of what they'd find behind the door it opens

I stood at the edge, trying to write a letter
addressed to no one in particular
I wanted to sum it all up in a few words
but I couldn't
I keep worrying about the people
who won't be receiving their letters
And who would deliver mine?


I ended up writing six pages worth of
words I don't even remember writing
All the letters I have inside my bag flew like pigeons on a good day
and I silently wished for the wind to bring them
all to the right addresses


as for my letter addressed to no one in particular
Some of them landed on a puddle
some of them landed on dog shit
As for me, I landed on the concrete
between 6th and 7th street

I had a talk with Charles.
I made friends with the mailman today.
opium district
opium district
Aug 28, 2013

I made friends with the mailman today.
Because I thought he'd care to know
I'll be gone soon, he won't have to come around for much longer.
He smiled at me, with a hint of uncertainty
and carried on with his daily routine.

I watched the mailman go by again
Autumn
Autumn
Jul 18

I watched the mailman go by again
He was at it again
Delivering mail
It reminded me how the days pass by
How theres always thursdays
The mailman goes by day after day
Shoving mail into box after box
I watch him
I watch his technique
He doesnt know im watching
But then slowly people trickle out of their houses
To open the previously closed box
And fondle the previously fondled letter
One letter may be special
So lets be thankful for this doorless truck and his driver
But really its all about the driver
The mailman

I've limped through another
day
weeK
birth
and I got scars to feel especially when they're burned

im limited in imagination
sparking only when I
masturbate
die
or start my car

I get high now, again
and as always it makes little to no sense
television
cold spells
online video games
but my lighter works and I believe in the power of
purification
as I try to achieve the heights of my imagination
again I try
sometimes twice a day

Tossing the pigskin
Burrowing and displaying the Ostrich effect
All applause for the chairman of the board of trustees
And all the spiddle on his back up shirt

Mortify them
An incomplete pass
Rally the troops
For unfinished business

Shift gears
Reread the post script

"P.S.  The unzipped flies of store owners trying to replicate the success of their fathers. Piddle about, play with implements of torture, instruments of destruction. Wander in the wilderness, grunt and sigh as your civilized brain rattles. Make way for Plan B, and fill out the forms in triplicate. Fumbling at the controls, emergency landing. The gear shift and crankshaft have given out. Listen to the titillating chatter of the disappointed passengers who all longed for the window seat.

Always your's
Edmund Balthazar "

Take two
I could slap you

taijarea darius
Jul 15, 2013

you wrote  me  a letter with you signature
in that letter was lines of lust. this lust was deep you talked about .. curves ,breast , lips
i read on and thought damn he moves me with so much passion i sworn it was because he loved me
because i was the only woman that feed him songs of freedom . freedom from the chains of pain
late nights of running through each others  minds.
you wrote  me a letter with your signature in that letter was lines of secrets you talked  about  your past i read on
then understood i couldnt be your little secret anymore. i would have to leave you alone you wrote me a letter with your signature in in that letter was lines of mysery the paper wet from your tears  and in bold letter was the reason why. you said the lost of compassion kept you up late. tossing and turning in bed. and that you havent ate .
you wrote me a letter  with your signature in that letter was lines of love. deep love that you wanted to experience. love that wasnt judging  but  forgiving . i read thet letter thinking we could have done better. grab my hand i can take you back to your begining when you and i were kings and queens
at the bottom was a p.s. stating that you have moved on.
and what we shared had been lost.
that time was wasted being with me. you needed space to breathe. and thats when i knew that the writing was not about me.

The Littlest Mailman,
Taii
Taii
Nov 18, 2013

The Littlest Mailman,
It started as a conversation
With your big sister.
We were all so excited to
Hear about you.
We could barely
Contain ourselves
With the news of this miracle.
You were loved so much already.
Greatly saddened by the news today.
You were already so much to us,
A Son or daughter,
A brother or sister
A niece or nephew
Grandson or daughter.
But, sadly your heart stopped beating,
We are so sad you are leaving.
They must have needed another
Tiny angel in heaven.
We miss you already.
Grandma please hold him or her steady.
We will see you again when we are ready.

-----Aunt Tay

Not much of a poem more of a letter but I don't really care.  RIP Little Mailman
Of waiting in hushed noon for the mailman’s bell
Pradip Chattopadhyay

Faster smoother communication
Texts flying freely in the air
But somewhere eerily dying the relation
Bred when you could just silently stare!
Gone are the years of shy look and snail mail
A distance of time-space that fanned it intense
The words though now are buzzing like gale
With the wind comes not the romance’s incense!
Flew away the time them now would never know
Of waiting in hushed noon for the mailman’s bell
Running the fingers in the warmth of a blue glow
With the lovelorn heart in pursuit of a fairytale!

Of waiting in hushed noon for the mailman’s bell
Pradip Chattopadhyay

Faster smoother communication
Texts flying freely in the air
But somewhere eerily dying the relation
Bred when you could just silently stare!
Gone are the years of shy look and snail mail
A distance of time-space that fanned it intense
The words though now are buzzing like gale
With the wind comes not the romance’s incense!
Flew away the time them now would never know
Of waiting in hushed noon for the mailman’s bell
Running the fingers in the warmth of a blue glow
With the lovelorn heart in pursuit of a fairytale!

A re-post, inspired by Kelly Rose's thought-provoking poem The lost art of writing letters.
A mailman got tired
Jacob
Jacob
Jan 30, 2012

Blue was the sky
Blue was the sky
The sky was so blue
I wanted to cry

But I kept my chin up
My feet to the road
Acting like someone
With nowhere go

Stones and dust
Stones and dust
Walking past cars
Covered in rust

I'm feeling fine
As I watch a cat stretch
I can't think of a day
Better than this

The girls and the boys
The girls and the boys
Skipping and yelling
Playing with toys

A black cloud came out
And it started to rain
Puddles and pavement
Thirsty storm drain

Gray was the sky
Gray was the sky
The sky was so gray
I wanted to cry

But brown grass turned green
Flowers could drink
And everything dripping
Started to gleam

Letters and kisses
Letters and kisses
A mailman got tired
And sat for a minute

 
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