I was all edges and jaded eyes
Long before
you met me, with sweet smiles
- all teeth
My laugh gets louder
I get taller
But I was only edges
Before you met me

I'm sorry but I think
You would've liked me
Before when I was innocent,
always straightforward

Than this twisted
Hardened joke I've become.

You need to go.
Before I become too dependent
You have to go.

Insomnia,
Once again we meet, I've grown accustomed to your nightly *******; a dangerous liaison in those early hours.
It's 5 o'clock in the morning, I'm tired
worn
withdrawn
the monotony of daily embargoes; assaults on my mind.

Insomnia,
You're beside me now smiling, so tainted with desire, laying beside me; skin as pale as ghost walkers of the night.
Your demonic shadow need not accompany me, stealing hours of wakeful sleep.
You're no lover to me.

"Don't you see me," you smirk.
"Of course I do," I retort.

You begin to justle with rage, splashed sanguine, green with envy. Toiled & troubled; you know day is breaking, you fear the light.

"I missed you last..." you pause...
"Oh,  you're going to give me the silent treatment? Okay, I'll just answer for you... 'I always miss my baby, every night you're absent, I know I can't live without you'.."

I turn away, tears in my eyes...

sleep sleep sleep sleep sleep

Insomnia,
You're my demon of the night. I fear how far you will bring me to my knees; begging on another star - already dead no dreams will become - for strength, hope, love.

Insomnia,
I call you my dangerous liaison, I still cling to you -
friend & foe
absent lover
lost addiction...

You keep me so deep,
                                      in love with you.

© Sia Jane

I wondered through moments of
Enlightened insanity,
I revelled in the freedom
Not a lucid thought.

I was upon the field, I contemplated
Defeat upon the thunder of
Voices raining from above,
But I was in combat, and I was
Slaying Those who would not follow.

Fallen beneath me thoughts, I was
A victim of my mind rebelling
Upon sane cohesion. They, me
I was at war within myself.

But after moments of screaming
Revelation, those that didn't not
Follow were dissipated echoes,
I was in control and I reviled
In the incoherent melody, I
Choose insanity over the day
To day problems of my mundane life.

Perhaps I am hard to like,
     No one understand how I used my bike.

Perhaps it was me,
          who understood first
                  of their perspective's meant to be.

Perhaps that is why I stay away,
                         always a step ahead in my foolish play.

Perhaps you never notice my distance,
                                for I am alone in this charade of existence.

Your voice was a quiet calm
a prelude to darker skies and
the storms you kept hidden
beneath cumulus smiles

You called me a storm chaser
maybe you were right, love
because I've always found the sound of rain
on hardened surfaces soothing

The gentle way water
patiently waits, biding its time
till even rock gives way and surrenders
forming mountains, and rivers deep

This is how canyons are formed
deep rifts within the soul
with nothing left to bridge the divide, pursuit becomes impossible
but maybe that was the goal all along

Maybe I pursued you knowing that you'd run
and you became my rainbow
Because you knew, no matter how close I think I am..

we'll always still be miles apart

I always forget
that Bourbon takes longer
to hit me than any other
type of libation, including
palm wine and fermented mare's milk.

This is possibly why I never
drink Bourbon when I'm in public,
except for those few major mistakes
which always resulted in near death.

The problem with near death experiences
when completely wasted,
is that you don't realize it at the time
so that you don't get the adrenaline
rush which you were looking for to begin with.

All that's left of that sort of night
are the moments of sheer terror
in between retching into the toilet
when you remember bits and snatches
of a bar fight or racing a Harley down
A1A in your beat up Honda.

It's moments like that when I wonder
if maybe I ought to have chosen some
other, less egregious drug to ruin myself
with, something mellow like ****** or
au'natural like ****, but the potheads I know
only ever spit up cheesy rap, and let's face it
****** just makes you nod off while ****** your soul.

We all have our vices, I've said before
and personally, I'm okay with mine sometimes.

Much rather have my own personal demons
than ones that I don't know so well.

I still think it's strange when people
tell me that I intimidate them,
always have and probably always will,
especially when women tell me that,
because by being able to say
exactly what I mean and how I feel
is threatening somehow?

I've been thinking about this lately,
the disparity between how I interpret
myself, and how others interpret me;
betting that if I could take a poll to
those that had some fire for me,
they'd agree with Angela that said she
cared for me mostly because I didn't judge.

Who am I to judge though?
It makes no sense to me, for people
to think that just because I stand up straight
and can speak well, I'm sophisticated or superior?
I know my own history, the things I've done
and more importantly not done, so then
how can I look down my nose at someone
whose shoes I've never walked in?

I guess I'm getting to the part that
should have been written about a
while back, should've been examined
and accepted rather than have the manly
thing done to it and buried like a dead dream.

I did care, I could have loved,
probably should have now that I
really think about it, could have had
something worth fighting for in a
place never expected or looked for.

But I'm good at walking away,
too good at cutting people out of
my life when things just get complicated
and frankly, complicated equals very painful.

This is the life I've made for myself,
much as I may hate it, I have nobody
to blame really, since we all have our
choices and we all have to live with them.

So I'll take another shot
and smoke another Camel
hoping that I made the right
decision to walk away once more,
but knowing deep down that
the only reason I ever did
was complete and utter *******.

There is a point in some lives
when those living it
must accept that the
hope and the dream
which drove it
will only ever
be that;
a hope
and
a
dream.

She may have closed the door
but you nailed it shut
You refused to hear her weeping
while you sat upon your ****
Your back against the door
Where you occasionally bang your head
Needles hanging from your veins
Demons not waiting for you
To. Be. Dead.
She sat upon the other side
listening through the door
her good eye against the keyhole
until she heard you breathe no more
Along an empty hall of dust
that ends in a pit of flames
that carries centuries of souls
to their everlasting shame
She sat upon that dirt floor
thinking she was the one to blame
if only you had turned the ****
or just whispered her name...