Today was not a good day.
Nothing particularly awful happened,
Nobody was particularly upset,
But today was not a good day.
I wasn’t too hungry, or too tired, or too hot.
But today was just not a good day.
I ate meals, I smoked cigarettes, I drank coffee,
and I do not understand why today was not a good day.
The people around me were happy, and supportive, and very kind,
My atmosphere was overall congenial,
Yet today was still not a good day.

My forsaken heart yearns greatly for the answers to these questions I have in plentiful quantities. My castaway soul yearns for all the solutions. My distraught mind longs for the certainty to fix my conundrums, so tomorrow can be a good ******* day and not blend into this blur of unjustifiably somber days, I feel as though I have been living for so long.

They fit so unnaturally you could swear they were pieces from different puzzles. The one part you have control over, the one piece you can manipulate, might fit alongside someone else's, but you know the color will never match up.
The lines mismatched, ends desperately trying to find each other by any means. Trying to squeeze a connection so tight you might be able to relate.
It's the kind of cosmic joke that makes you cry so seriously that you know you could go the next week without saying a word.
because it's so not funny you would rather sleep for days on end than try to convince yourself it's worth getting up in the morning.

-RÆ

No matter how hard I pushed, I couldn't be the cure of her disease.
Without fail, my pressing reason, trying to grind out the addiction plaguing her life, would bounce right back to remind me that it isn't my sobriety to claim.
She needed her own help, not mine.

Though I know now it was never my job, and I knew all along it was never my fault, it does sting my withered heart to know it was never my responsibility.
That maybe I never did and never could make a difference.

But the saddest page of this story is where I finally come to terms with the jealousy flowing through my veins. Pure unparalleled jealousy and hatred for a chemical that without fail has controlled countless lives.
Jealousy that stems from the realization that I couldn't and won't ever be her drug of choice. I'm not as good as that simple compound.
Everything my life had to offer pales in comparison to an intangible high.
My humor, my laughter, and my smile were worthless compared to the instant satisfaction that her drug gave her. My life becomes secondary to an inanimate chemical.
My heart became a side order to an entree of addiction.

-RÆ

We sat in silence while I stared off in to space,
and he stared at me
trying with all he had to get into my head
alas, to no avail.
A sadness so deep, it penetrates quivering bones.
So thick, he'd surely drown.
I was going to end things right then and there,
but instead
I ****** him.
Because I wanted nothing more than to feel close to him,
if only for a moment,
and that was the only way I knew how.
I was going to end things right then and there,
but I was afraid to wake up alone in the night.
I was going to end things,
but I couldn't stand the thought of losing him from my life.
I should have ended things,
because I feel so god ****** detached.
Because I feel so much *******
nothing.

against the wall, the firing squad ready.
then he got a reprieve.
suppose they had shot Dostoevsky?
before he wrote all that?
I suppose it wouldn't have
mattered
not directly.
there are billions of people who have
never read him and never
will.
but as a young man I know that he
got me through the factories,
past the ******,
lifted me high through the night
and put me down
in a better
place.
even while in the bar
drinking with the other
derelicts,
I was glad they gave Dostoevsky a
reprieve,
it gave me one,
allowed me to look directly at those
rancid faces
in my world,
death pointing its finger,
I held fast,
an immaculate drunk
sharing the stinking dark with
my
brothers.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

the house next door makes me
sad.
both man and wife rise early and
go to work.
they arrive home in early evening.
they have a young boy and a girl.
by 9 p.m. all the lights in the house
are out.
the next morning both man and
wife rise early again and go to
work.
they return in early evening.
By 9 p.m. all the lights are
out.

the house next door makes me
sad.
the people are nice people, I
like them.

but I feel them drowning.
and I can't save them.

they are surviving.
they are not
homeless.

but the price is
terrible.

sometimes during the day
I will look at the house
and the house will look at
me
and the house will
weep, yes, it does, I
feel it.