It’s dawned on me that throughout my short existence
I’ve never written a happy piece
My writing seems to consist mostly of cringe-worthy whining
And endless amounts of loathsome self-pity

Sure there’s the occasional upswing
You know
When a boy meets a girl
I can recount tales, soliloquies, and prose
Go on endlessly about about that burning fire
****, give me paper, a pen and a bottle of bourbon and I’ll tell you all about a look she gave me once

But real happiness?
Inner peace?
The type of stuff that gets monks hard?
Nothing, nada, zilch

And I’ve looked
Oh boy have I looked
I scoured old journals,
Bent and broken
The binding barely held together by a stitch

Every high school, middle school space and place I could think of
But not even a whisper of a laugh that was ever shared with a friend

All of this begs the question
Am I just a miserable sap? Who’s only pleasure in life is wallowing in despair?
Or am I a self-destructive nihilist?
Content that we’re all doomed to the same dirt box in the end?
Or worse yet…

And this is when I really took a hard look at myself
And I mean a real hard look
A **** naked, look yourself in the eye
heart to heart with me moment


I asked myself two questions:

"Do I like me?"
Generally?
"Yes"
Yes
That was easy

I generally enjoy life
I enjoy the company of others
Feeling successful
Accomplishing something I think has some value or impact
I enjoy living and I enjoy this wild rollercoaster we call life

"If you like yourself and you enjoy life, then where does your happiness come from?"
From inside?
"Does it?"
I mean, I think it does
"You think or you know?"
I mean whoever really knows where happiness comes from anyhow?
"Answer the question, and be honest. What is the source of your happiness?"
I…
"Don’t lie, I’ll know. YOU’LL know"
Other People?
"More specifically"
Women?
"MORE!"
Women I date?
"Come on, get deep for a ******* moment you *****!"
Women I love?
Women
I love
"See? Was that so hard?"
I…I, don’t know what to say…

And what is there to say?
To discover that the source of your happiness
True happiness, lies with others?
And not sharing with others, love thy neighbor, koombayah
This doesn’t come from a selfless place, not entirely anyway
This is carnal

This is staking your claim
This is caring for others to the extent that it fulfills your innate desires
She gets what she wants and she’s happy and that completes me
It’s not just oh I’m happy because she’s happy hahaha
I crave it, I need it

And when it’s not there?
I’m an absolutely wreck
A ******* walking, breathing, ******* mess
I barely eat, I can’t sleep
All I feel is gnawing
Something deep inside that doesn’t know what the **** to do

And when it’s good it’s still ******
Because how could you ever tell someone that
I love you
Means I love me?

You are the Familiar
A caress on my shoulder
Warm breath on my neck
Soft kisses on my lips

You come to me in pieces
Visions
That leave me perplexed
and estranged

I close my eyes
and I see you
But the message is jumbled
The path, unclear

I open my eyes
And I can't remember your face
Or your name
I just remember your absence

I remember the hollow feeling in my gut
the way my heart aches
the constant pitter patter through my mind
always there, ever reminding

You haunt my waking hours
I crave for you
long for you
obsession bordering on insanity

When I sleep
All becomes clear
The knowledge pours in
I can piece together a millennia of loving you

But then I awake
and you retreat into the mist
my fingers passing through your hair like ripples in a stream
and as you came, so you will remain

Like a dream you were to me
and whether it was one night
a couple months, or 6 ******* years
you are still a mystery to me

The gates open,
the Masses rush through,
flowing like water and filling all space,
I am last on the train,
And just barely,
the gates slam my sides to remind me that I almost missed my ride.

There is a gloom in the air and it tastes like disappointment,
Kind of like when you leave French toast out too long after breakfast has been served,
It's old and stale and just not as it should be.

Long faces run for miles down the aisles,
every space in between is filled with resentment and bitterness,
This is not a feeling but a truth for New Yorkers on a long train ride home.

Amidst this gloom,
Rises a cheery little voice,

At first it's very faint,
Like a mouse amongst worlds,
But it begins to rise and grows more confident with every spoken word.

Wrapped in a violently pink scarf and topped with a baby blue hat with arms dangling down to her shins,
This voice construes words so simple and pure that the average heart can't help but to smile.
Even the tough souls,
The real down-on-their-luckers,
smirk and snicker as she reads.

The hero falls,
She cries out with angst!
The hero rises,
She cheers!
By now she has a following of non-admitters,
gently leaning in to hear more,
Because that's what they're coming to see,
To put face to the E Train Angel they’ve heard so much about,

The story is stock and so are it's characters,
They have been used and reused to fit every sequence,
We all know them well,
But for her it is real and true,
and it is not just a story,
but her story.

She reads on,
Words flowing from her lips like the sweetest song,
No lyrics and all melody,
She sings,
And by now the whole train is listening,
Even those many carts away,
can here a faint whisper of something warm and sweet.

The train rolls into station,
and our little angel rises to depart,
Hearts hit the floor,
a sound echoes through the train,
and it's something that can only be described as gray,
A fleeting moment of nostalgia has been abruptly ended.
Gloom soon sets in as she heads for the open doors,

Bodies disperse in front of her like a parting sea,
Slow and steady, and with minor hesitation,
they move to let her pass.

She's gone.

And what more can I say than I am glad that I caught the Train that day.

Untitled

I call, no answer
I write, no reply
I scream out your name, nothing but a fall breeze in response

This is the end...
I guess this is the end...
Is this the end?
I'm so uncertain, torn, perplexed, mind-boggled
I can't piece it together

Did I hurt you?
If I did it was unintentional
Was the distance too far?
Like a rubber band stretched too thin
Or were we just not solid enough?
Like glass people, in glass houses, living glass lives

To be completely honest
Not knowing hurts more than missing you
I feel like we're characters in a book, and someone's ripped out the last few chapters
No one will know how our story ends

But I guess it has ended, it's just incomplete
There clearly will not be anymore chapters in this book
But the ****** was weak and unappealing

If I could go back and rewrite the ending, I'd go out with a bang
Plates would be thrown, voices raised
Fury, rage, adrenaline, passion

Something to prove, to myself
That it mattered
That we mattered
Instead this just feels, broken

You did teach me many things though
You taught me that nothing in life is constant
That no matter how hard you try, how much you care
Somethings are just beyond you

You taught me that love is fragile
And that "I love you" means "I love you now"
That the worst thing you can do to someone is to be indifferent about them
That even hatred has more meaning than nothing

I don't really cry anymore
Did you know that?
Would you care?
I guess when you left you took that too

I feel like I cant appropriately put into words how I feel about you now
So I'll leave this section for another day
When my thoughts are more clear