"The fireflies are out tonight" he remarked, plodding barefoot behind her. Dusk fell over the stoic faces of skyscrapers that lined the three blocks ahead of them. "First I've seen this season", she replied in a near whisper, moon-eyed and gazing at something over the space where the park was.

//stop//

Her ears emerged from beneath the water she'd grown accustomed to the temperature with her laps up and down, trying to wash away the earlier happenstances of the day. It was warm beneath the surface, but the breeze made her feel brittle.

//Stop//

"...or was it more of a situation entirely different?" the boy questioned. She stared blankly at his awaiting gaze. How long had she been under? she had no idea. She'd gotten lost in thought and, as usual forgotten to count her laps. It just figured. It was like her to drift off like that. She shrugged to herself and closed her eyes as she leaned back into the water, once again drowning out the dull sounds of obscure questions that dripped out of his mouth. She closed her eyes as she swung her legs up to the wall and exhaled as she pushed back and drifted once again to the other side of the pool.

//stop//

She was dripping wet and a man was escorting her to a new room. It smelled of grease and cigarettes. The lighting was bad.

//stop//

All dry now, except her hair. She was warmer though. She exited her current surroundings through the only door. There, to the left of the desk on the floor. She quickly skipped over and slipped them on.

//stop//

Her hair was almost completely dry and she couldn't stand still. He was cleaning in his boxers by the kitchen sink. She'd pulled up the rug in front of the makeshift TV computer screen and she danced in front of the window, happy he couldn't see.

//stop//

it's late. much later. she wanted to go upstairs but she was having a hard time trying to care. Maybe the girl she used to know would help her out with a little artificial sweetener to fight off the sleep. She could at least see.

STOP.


C.e.m. 6.11.15

I keep thinking
                                 I'm hungry
                                 I'm closer to the curb
                                                      I'm late.

I keep thinking
                                 It should've cost less
                                 This was a waste of gas
                                         I'm gonna head out.

I keep hearing
                          my alarm;
                          Your early morning voice
                        The frosted wind quake above.

I keep thinking
                          I'd have more to say
                          I'd have more change
                        The meters were off by now.

I keep dreaming
                            I'm wandering
                            You appear occasionally
                           I have the antidote to misery.

I keep trying
                      To be
                             poetic
                                Enthusiastic
             ­                             Inspired.

Vonnegut has cursed me
I'm caught in a Timequake
Repeating continuously
My last worst mistake.
This is a tendency
I can't seem to shake and
My dependency
Comes and goes in waves
But for now I'd say

I don't need you.

I keep trying
                 to be logical.
I keep thinking
                 I'm doing alright.
I keep dreaming
                It's true
But I keep hearing
                The opposite from you.



C.e.M. April 24, 2014 first draft

We're lying back to back.
Faces in our screens.
We are together...
whatever that means

C.e.M.

Do you think that you'd need
some sort of apology
When you come to me
While I'm still dreaming?
Do you think this could make
an awkward autopsy
Because I'm too dizzy to be
Agreeing?

Caught on the hook
You played it
right by the book.  
You took your time
And little of mine
and now I'm the one
Left leaving.

And screaming
And trying,
But not really believing
In anything
but a bereaved blessing,
All forgotten and festering
Though unnoticed,
Still attesting
To it's wasteland existence.

Porous, dry and without pigment
Like the skin of an overgrown pigglet

Time for slaughter,
Courtesy of the indignant.
In death too *****
To be a meat worth eating,
Your glory days
Of **** wallowing wonder
were fleeting,

And you knew it from day one
But it wasn't till near seventeen
You began to come undone,
Got a little high strung
And grew a knife for a tongue
Plunged straight into the heart
With snide remarks and whispers
Of text messages
Left off the charts
And I'm left in the dark

To inside jokes
Of feigned friendship
I suppose I'm waiting
For what you forgot to mention.

Yes,
You've always had
good intentions
Just
... no direction
And little discretion
I'm sorry,
I'm sorry...
But I must change direction.

Cem 5.4.15

...and at the end
I'm scrambling for just a little more
**** and for words
and your redundant rambling
is broken English
trying to communicate things
I'll never understand.
When I remember my last wish
I check the kief catch
the last shot 'till I'm dry
and with an empty barrel
and hollow sloshing guts,
my porous bones will snap
under the weight
of morality's fate
and my wayward ways.
I'll crash into a parade
of memories
that will spiral around me
as I plummet into the geyser
that last dopamine rush
that will ****** me into
the fifth dimension
the crystalline eclipse
of what is yet unknown
and forever undiscovered.

c.e.m. 4.28

Face to the sky
Even if the sun is in my eyes
and it's blinding me
so that everything I see is
in moonbeam white
and everyone is just as polite
as I want them to be.

In reality
there is darkness
and it seems it's only me,
who will give as much as I take
thinks promises don't break
knows I am headed to the grave
and (tries to)
make something good of it.

Because driving is just like smoking...
If we walk can we stop?
or at least slow down,
and move in blocks
instead of miles
and across the neighborhood
instead of The States.

The soot in my lungs
never felt so great, anyway.
I think my cue was a while ago.
Excuse me,
I'm coming in late
and these excuses stammered
are layered.

I'm too old to believe prayers
are anything but
a little self recognition and release.
So please, leave me be
while I lay on my face
and cry to the sky
for some semblance of relief.

I'm stoic and solidified
my mind, a block of ice
drifting through glacial tides
of callous contempt
exempt from empathy-
I don't want to relate.

Yet even still, I retaliate.
Home-grown surgery
might do a little good for me
a root canal
for that weird little machine
between my eyebrows
I might espouse humanity
back into my vocabulary.

All in all,
the ups and down will fold neatly
into an interesting
half-page obituary,
the sumination of a
less-than-elegant sequence
of events.

I am ever hesitant to repent
lest I resent my own penitence
for lack of pertinence.



C.e.M. 4.21.15
edited 2.9.17

I'm still trying
to kiss girls
In the doorways
                              Of the bathrooms
                                                        Of these same few bars
While their boyfriends
Wait intrepidly outside

Since wanting something
I know I can’t have
Has always been a source
Of undeniable temptation.

I’m still binge eating
                                           and chain smoking
                                                         ­                 and getting ******
Since gaining weight
And the mounting pressure,
  Of the thickening
soot in my lungs


Seem to be the only things
that feel similar
To the stagnation
that accompanies
                                Filler friends
                                                  and dead end outings
That leave me pouting
Not in the corner
But just off center


C.e.M. 4.10.15
edit 4.18.17