I like to think
you could love me;
scars, bruises, and all.
Every notion of your being;
the charcoal that feeds this flame.
Pulsing. Radiant. Throwing heat from
thick cast iron walls— my heart:
Cellar-ridden, half concealed.
Juvenile- petty in nature.
Still, capable of love.
Of this, I am certain.
Regardless, I can
never offer the
love that you
deserve...
Mar 25, 2015
Mar 25, 2015 at 1:29 PM UTC
Shirtless, barefoot, and
reeking of self-loathe;
he sat in silence
at the edge of his mattress.
Studying the black
lettering on the face of
the prescription bottle
through bloodshot eyes.
His name indicated in bold
just above the RX number.
Aloud he read the words
Amphetamine Salts
To the layman- adderall:
A quick fix for your
run of the mill 'screw-up'.
But to him it meant yet
another night without sleep.
One more night away from his demons.
Without the crippling nightmares;
The reoccurring remembrance
of events no longer (if even ever)
within his immediate control.
Glancing over at the clock-
counting quickly on fingers,
he’d figured it’d been about
sixty-four hours since his last sleep.
The lack of rest accompanied by
excessive alcohol consumption,
was making things hazy.
Days bled into one another.
His eyes started playing tricks.
Now sitting up straight,
he applied pressure to the
childproof lid, and twisted.
Plunging his fingers into the bottle,
removing two more pills,
he held them for a moment—
Then, with the help of a
flat, warm, beer swallowed
another twelve guaranteed
hours without sleep.
Laying back, legs hanging
off the edge of the bed
muscles aching,
stomach growling,
eyeballs burning;
content in knowing
he'd die before ever
facing that dream again.
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 8:13 AM UTC
Applauded the jokes,
Then stabbed the jester.
Hushed our laughter,
The games were all over.
Manic man in our home;
Reeked of gin- our father.
He then made that B-line
Straight for our mother.
Hands tight on her neck;
It was blood he was after.
Her face turning blue.
My skin growing hotter.
Not one second to spare,
Sister's eyes welled with water.
I sprinted out to the truck and
Grabbed the old mans revolver.
Calmly walked back inside, and
Painted the walls with our father.
Momma cold on the ground…
We couldn’t wake her from slumber.
I swore at god all **** night
For not making me stronger.
They gave me five years in a ward,
And my poor sister to foster.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
He—
Her ginger.
Limp handshake.
Cacophonous laugh.
Features, disproportionate.
In most ways- narrow minded.
Exceedingly self-assured.
Without money he is
No better than I.
Loving she:
Always.
-Me
Yet
here I stand.
Clinging to the bottle.
Watching the years pass by.
Alone atop this cold, cobble, stoop;
Coat covered in cigarette ash.
I don’t think of you—
or at least I
try not
to.
Not
quite dead…
However, not entirely
alive either. And I made a sincere
effort to climb out of the plot you left me in;
but darling that hole you dug me was ******* deep!*
And the only tool you’d left me was that ****
bottle; which for a short while helped.
Until eventually, like you,
it consumed
me.
Now
I awaken,
only to find that I’m
no longer capable of feeling;
and what a great disappointment this
is to me. It would seem as though my receptors,
synapses, neurotransmitters, etc- have flickered and fried.
Dopamine, will no longer travel within these
useless, dried-up, old veins of mine.
Evidently my demise, resultant
of a life lived alone
in a faster
lane.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 4:26 AM UTC
They'll find me hanging upside-down.
Ankles bruised by the ropes
From which you strung me up for field dressing.
Lacerations where you’d cut my throat,
Bled me dry, spilt my guts,
And broke past my ribs, to uproot my heart.
Can they carbon date the remains of my reputation?
Trace the ****** back to your mouth?
Will they know the cause of death to be the
Malignant rumors you couldn’t help but spew?
Your false words: the final nail in my coffin.
Do you regret ever letting them past your lips?
Slowly, my reputation crippled by the aggressive
Cancer that was your embellished utterance.
And it didn’t bother you in the slightest.
You marveled at the sight of my struggle.
And amazing how these things seem to spread.
One caustic, contagious, breath from you was all it took.
Though the slanderous virus wouldn't make it 'til morning;
Addicts to their fix; gossips, crave your empty words.
Like ******* the rush is intense but brief.
Interest fleeting, they move on.
Off to the next peddler.
For all these inconveniences, I thank you.
Thank you for lifting the masks that curtained your distorted self.
How blind I must have been not to see it outright.
Another leech, feeding on slighted words.
And to think; all it costed you to buy in
Was me...
Mar 9, 2015
Mar 9, 2015 at 8:10 AM UTC
Pursuing yet another parabolic
Crawl across the clear, blue, summer sky
The sun started its journey at the horizon.
Radiating— Forcing its warm, orange, light
Through venetian blinds; the glowing celestial body
Painted her naked, flawless, skin
With stripes of contrasting light as she slept.
He watched her quietly as the shadows
Manifesting between each strip of light, inched
Across her skin in unison with the suns trajectory.
Ever so slightly opening her sleep-crusted eyes
She looked up at him, yawed gently, smiled and
Rolled over to position her body against his.
Her narrow, freckled face, rested easily
In the crevice between his arm and chest.
Letting out one more yawn, her emerald, green,
Eyes fell back behind their lashed curtains of flesh;
Dozing off into the next satisfying slumber.
The ceiling fan above clicked and waved erratically
But offered no relief from the hot, humid air.
Perspiring slightly, her skin remnant of morning dew.
In those last few minutes of direct, morning, light
Right before the sun left the scope of their window
He couldn't help but think that this was it.
This was love, and he was trapped.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 10:22 PM UTC
Perhaps it was my own fault;
Letting her ever get that close.
Inviting her underneath my skin
Where she'd gnaw at my bones.
The dichotomy, while blatant,
Fell to eyes under strain.
Her beauty was blinding.
My world suddenly dimmed.
Her voice, ever charming,
All other sound fell to mute.
My old heart, her new hobby;
Another puppet, abused.
Douse your half of the fire,
Yet mine still rages on.
Though I’m new to the subject,
I'll call what we had ‘love’.
But if ever again I feel heartbreak:
Dear God,
**** me young
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 5:08 PM UTC
The cab moved quietly
Beneath the street lamps
Pleather seats: torn, faded
There we sat, silent- content.
The driver, a portly man, hacked
Struggling, his breathing deepened
Panting, gasping to regain regularity
Quickly, his breath filled the
Confined, litter-shrouded,
Van with the stench of
Cheap cigar smoke
We arrived at her home
The driver approached slowly
Carefully avoiding the icy snow
Banked earlier by the cities plows
Sliding the van door open I step out
Still holding her hand, the night air
Enters my lungs, sobering me
Just for that brief instant
Hastily, she leans in
Without hesitation, I meet her
Ambitious advance, reciprocating
The kiss is brief; I’m no longer cold
Her lips are warm and soft against mine
Retreating, she smiles. I gently brush her hair
Behind her ear unveiling a dark brown eye
My glazed, drunk, stare meet hers
Her grin, now beginning to fade
She looks down in confusion
I sense the cab driver behind me
Growing impatient he lights a cigar
Before turning away she whispers night
Her hand lets go of mine; our fingers part
Complacent, tomorrow she will return to him
Revisiting that feigned, simulated, infatuation
The kind they falsely advertised as ‘love’
Standing alone, I’m cold once more
Keying in, she doesn’t look back
Reaching into my pocket
Scrounging for what cash is left
To the cab, I surrender my last five dollars
This pays just enough to get me where I stand
Dissatisfied with his tip, the driver departs cursing
Unsure what to make of the evening, I begin my walk
Now, not so sobering, the night air dries my throat
The chilled breeze that once blushed her cheeks
Now stings my nose, ears, and finger tips
Alone, I continue west- home
Cold, I have miles ahead
Spirit torn in twain
I walk them.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 10:03 PM UTC
The feeling is lead.
Stubborn,
It sits in my chest.
I remind myself
Not to dare name it.
I remind myself:
If you name it,
It becomes real.
Suddenly, people will see it.
Label you for it.
It will define you.
I ignore it
When I can.
Suppressing him
As best as possible.
Still, he manages to
Shrink me.
******* me.
He strains my knees.
Curves my back.
Hangs below my eyes.
I plead with him.
Beg him.
Try to compromise.
But this thing is
Deaf,
Dumb,
Simple—
He is oblivious.
He lacks understanding.
Incessantly, he fails
To recognize
My pain;
Perpetual discomfort.
Unaware, he forces me;
Knees ******
Crawling to my vices.
Frequently
I drown him.
Hold his head low.
Well at the bottom of the
***** reservoir
That accumulates
Each night in my gut—
I drink one
After the next.
My hand never
Leaves the glass;
If I can help it,
The glass never
Leave my lips.
Until finally my world—
Our world
Falls below the, thick, black,
***** soaked veil.
Often
I choke him;
With thick, grey,
Clouds of smoke.
The clouds burn
Deep in my lungs
Lifting the burden
From my chest,
Back, knees.
For a minute
My mind isn’t
So crowded.
For the moment
I feel relief.
Some nights
I numb myself
With casual company.
Women,
Who like I,
Are acquainted with he.
For a moment
We might distract
One another—
In that moment
There’s sometimes bliss
Temporary,
Fleeting,
Transient—
But undoubtedly,
Bliss…
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 12:00 AM UTC