sometimes
I just feel stuck.
I couldn't tell you how,
or by what.
There is simply this
perplexing mass of
displacement
weighing on my mind
in aggravation.

It feels eerily like stagnation
and impatience
but I have no current task
I am evading.

I am just....
waiting.

it is excruciating.

C.e.M. September 12, 2015

I'll smoke cigarette, I've thought countless times what it does to me.
I'll down another glass of wine. It's good for the heart, so they say.
I'll laze around 'till three pm. My excuse isn't worth hearing.
I'll dream of  ways I could never be. Should I be less daring?


c.e.m September 13, 2015

There's something inexplicable
about the way
they make you feel




nothing.

Happiness is fleeting
but
you are your own mistake
you keep repeating.

one of these nights
might turn out right
if you keep your mouth shut
like the door you're always
finding yourself behind
with your back against the wood,
muscles tensing
as you knew they would.


Nose bleeding-
when is the last time you ate?
It took you an hour to get ready but
no one can see all your hard work
in the shade.

"baby, you look great"
is all you wanted to grace you ears
but you've got too much on your plate
and there are only couples here.

They will pay you no mind
and you will begin to feel
you might have been left behind.

you pretend you aren't hungry
because it seems more grungy.
cigarettes will stain your teeth
and smoke will spin circles at your feet
as you sway alone;

always hanging in the wings
you're looking for another drink
another triple shot
and you sink deeper into
the half-assed hope
that this will be a night
you forgot.

Just more meaningless crumbs
of these evening hours
accumulating into an unusable mass
of dried out nights

exaggerate another fight
you had with your mind-
what will you do when they call you out
for being lower than the grout
in the bathroom
baby face like you just came out of the womb
your knife is duller than
your conversation topic
you're a fake-
From a mile away can you be spotted.

Drained of inspiration
plagued by perpetual consternation
what will you sample next
on your way to a falsified elation.

Spending weeks away dragon chasing-
How long will you be on mental vacation?
They're growing impatient.

C.e.M. 12.21.2014

I've written pages upon pages of
Poetry
About the ways you find
To know me

But these attempts will always
Falter
And eventually fail-
Maybe this wasn't supposed to be.

You ask me what that means
And I don't have an answer.
Maybe you'll find one in the lap
Of last weekend's dancer.


When I no longer have the words to write
I hope you trace my freckles with
Cracking hands-
Sand me down with selfish demands.

There is a lot to discover
But you were never interested in
The Braille of my squirming skin.

When the carnivorous sun
Comes
I will sink to the bottom
Of a sunny sea
Turned desert

You might be the antidote
To a calloused misery

But in reality...
Our interactions were just short
Of dreary.

You were never quite what
I dreamed you up
To be.

Try not to take it too personally,
This rehearsal of simple dexterity
And our perplexing lack
Of similarities.

What are you doing with me?
I don't have a place here-

I will always awake first,

Bleary eyed and swimming against
The tides of a wordless agreement
That I've tried to please

I know when I leave you don't-

No, You won't

Grieve.  

Should I just leave?


C.e.M 12.9.14

and then all of a sudden
you meet someone
who shuts your mouth and
opens your eyes
and you just lay there on your side
and smile the dopiest smile.

you feel like singing and
screaming and perhaps
like you might explode
if the radiation
from the insides of his mind
that slices you from
six inches away
continues for much longer.

and if you do?
it won’t matter
because he will scoop you up
and kiss your pieces-
barely even noticing that
you are broken and

when he leaves
it is always
too soon

and the sheets smell like
the sweat after a long day
and you love it in all of its honesty
and the hard work that it eludes to.

His hands feel warm on your skin
even when they are too cold
and you have rolled
away with the quilt once again.

He’s respectful
and he’s got a big goofy laugh
that comes
from the recognition of a lingering sorrow
he is still
unwilling to share.

He will leave you
more tangled than your hair
in the morning
after it has spun itself
across the static surface
of sheets and skin.

He’s letting himself in and
you dream of him
even when he is beside you.

Your thoughts never tire
of retracing the steps you took together
and you will walk down familiar trails
hour by hour
when you mind needs a rest.

He is quite possibly the best,

the best


The best.

and you'll get to the rest.


c.e.m. 11.24.14

secondary vices
were always compromises
to the original morality
you sought.

somewhere in the pages
and peer pressure
and stage pressure
and slave wages
you forgot

you wanted memories
to mean something
and dreams to be
achieved.
But now life long
is long gone
and you lose your steam.

though I can no longer
imagine it
the way I fathom
insatiable hunger
will linger
a little longer.

perhaps someday
I'll be stronger
and I'll be able sonder
more than pessimistic ponderings.

Today I'll go under
and asunder my imagination
from fruitless creation that leaves
me listless and disagreeable.

If the future was foreseeable
perhaps I might be more careful
however knowing the complete anthology
of my defeat would never push me forward.
Is it fortunate I'm blind?
either way I'm falling behind.

C.e.M. September 13. 2015