That
Self-Made
Noose
Is
Living proof
Of our
Existence.

the day's breathe
runs thick in my brain.
a heaving mucoudial sigh.

words play tag and dodge
but will not stand still
prefering to run and trill.

the hum of traffic
soporforic....
and it
takes all of me
to concentrate on
the simple art of
driving....

i am at the end of this day
so drawn out and opratically
long...

i sit now, numb,
from all the academic,
angst and drama.
in the car,
in the driveway.

the home straight,
laid out, right before me.

the lights on in welcome,
inside husband and child
dinner for the table
the fires warmth beckoning


but still i sit
here ensconced,
in the quiet cocoon,
of the car, parked in the driveway.

where,
no one wants
or needs , a piece of me.

"Why must it be me?"
The words of a bleeding man
Bandages in hand

You were not a role model.
You were hilarious
but ******.
You were happy
but dark.

You suffered.
You fought.
You played the waves of a deep depression.
Eventually, you lost.

You put on a show.
The show.
You made yourself into anything
to get a laugh.
You created an icon.
Of comedy.
Of love.
Of strength.
Of comedy.

You were not a role model.
But you are a pillar of selflessness.
Your shadow shines bright.
A figure of darkness
Echoing what it means to live
Until time is up.

I don’t know you behind your mask.
I don’t know what resides in you Birdcage heart.
But,

What Dreams May Come
is up to you now, old friend.

So now
The line we walk along
Becomes clear again
Always clear
Again

I can see it below me
Always there
Never to not be
The sight grows old
I make it blurry
To somehow feel bold

The line we walk along
My focus no more
I look everywhere
But the floor

All these fights surrounding my family
Another day , oh god , another tragedy
All I need is a remedy
My little sister calls please play with me
While the tears go down her face , oh it's killin' me

i would live on a place
where all the roads are water
and i would be a paddle
peddler of wares
that come from the sea

i would trade in fresh
water a commodity
and take with friends
galanal tea

i would be busy
as could be, by day
and at night sleep
in the shade of a
tottentot tree
it's perfume
would be
a balm to me

that is what
i want to be
on days  i don't
want to be me

I’m a few hours
and minutes
and seconds
away from adding a year
to my relatively irrelevant age
and I contemplate the complexities
of such a small number.

Nineteen.

Legally an adult,
but not nearly ready
to enter the world
on my own.

I cannot even fathom  
               braving the hallways of
               horrendous high school
or
               supporting myself and
               being on time for my insurance
               all while balancing a career

I’m stuck in the middle
of this whirlwind
of emotions and numbers
and candles and time
and homework and paychecks
and everything else
that comes with the titles of
student and teenager
and adult and employee.

It’s minutes before
I can blow out the candles
on eighteen
but I also extinguish another bit
of dependence.


*August 10, 2014
9:13:43 PM