the release has come.
a grateful breath.
retaining walls are
coming down
i light a cigarette.
suddenly, i can see.
all the reasons fell in to me.
close the door,
i'm not coming home.
out at night
i set the pace,
calling
for
a little grace...
i light another smoke.
i softly whisper to myself
god, i'm glad i made it.
i'll think of you
from time to time.
your crimson heart
and selfish lines.
i walk
alone
it starts to rain.
you
might need a smoke.
Mar 11, 2011
Mar 11, 2011 at 11:05 PM UTC
Took a pill of happiness this morning
it was small & kind of pink.
I swallowed it
Dry.
Time lapsed and I
felt great.
I looked around.
My fingers looked long
and my pulse ran quick.
I looked at the smoking cigarette
half burned.
Everything seemed surreal.
I took a breath.
I felt every cell
absorb oxygen.
I wondered how long I’d been
sitting,
thinking.
Time was now an issue.
I looked for a clock.
there was none to be found.
Some old coffee,
some magazines lying around
half read
waiting for their pages to be turned.
newspapers piled
carefully
in the corner,
And the cat meowed.
Mar 10, 2011
Mar 10, 2011 at 5:08 PM UTC
i can’t grasp
a
single thought
with this whirlwind
of emotions
and worries.
i can’t stand
on
one leg steady.
Somebody’s ready
to
pull
it.
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 8:54 PM UTC
There’s a sadness in her eyes.
Not the kind that cries out
but lies quiet.
Burning with passion unfulfilled,
and sorrow unspoken.
Alone she cries softly.
Her tears, no longer able
to withstand the pressure behind walls
so carefully constructed
to keep them inside.
She breaks.
Softly though.
No one notices behind her laughter.
Behind her ****** statements
and flamboyant nature
No one sees.
She hides the destitution she fights not to feel.
But alone…
The quiet atrophy of her soul,
the silent declarations of her loneliness,
the unlived joys that may never be realized,
all become too much, and she weeps.
But all that’s revealed, is a distant sadness behind smiling eyes,
that still twinkle amidst her laughter.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
She said she’s a writer
i think.
coyly and in control,
her attitude
commands.
i listen, compelled to laugh by
her
rambling words.
They don’t make sense, and
i don’t really hear her
but the rambling
always brings a smile
to my lips.
She’s full of passion
and full of ****
Maybe that’s why
i like her best.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 8:09 PM UTC
Always the other woman.
Not the reality.
The fantasy.
Maybe that’s what I want or subconsciously seek.
To be only that. The fantasy of one (or many).
Maybe I’m scared
that I’m not worth the real trueness of deep,
selfless, intimate love…
but rather
the “go-to girl” for their passionate, heat-of-the-moment,
over-the-top-excitement and
momentary bliss.
Always adored.
Never treasured and truly
cherished.
Not for one’s self entirely.
Always for a moment.
Never forever.
It’s always; “shhhhhhh… honey,
quiet your passion, I’ll call you later.”
It’s never now.
Always later.
A generously fulfilling future is always over the horizon.
I’m able to touch and feel it.
Just never hold it
or keep it
for my own.
Always the other woman…
The one that rescues you from yourself,
your miseries,
your lover or
lack thereof.
But who rescues me?
Who takes me in,
Like a bird with broken wings and
Keeps me?…
Tasting me on your lips
so sweet
The moment is always just that.
A moment.
I lose myself in them sometimes.
Thinking for a moment
That they could be mine.
Truly.
Fooling myself in the “if only’s…”, just for that second.
Forgetting what some many others
Have forgotten.
It’s always a moment.
Quiet my passion now.
My innermost feelings. Renounce them.
“Be happy with what I’ve been given.” I tell myself.
That piece of you.
That tiny fragment.
A miniscule facet of what lies within you.
Don’t ask for more
It doesn’t exist…
…but for a moment.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 8:05 PM UTC
Like a boxer
I’m on the ground.
But I’m getting up
to finish it.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 8:02 PM UTC