There are times when the English language fails me.
Times in between flicks of the lighter
and gulps of cheap *****
in which a brief memory
and brings me
into the moment I made a promise
to never let my hobbies
Particularly those that took me
away from what I
was and propelled me
into a place where I
could be painfully numb.
Remembering when I
used to write with a fervor
that was inspired solely by feeling
and a lust to remain a pure and unadulterated man,
determined to keep his art a reflection of self.
There is no word in the English language I
can use to describe my disappointment after those times.
the womb and the grave
was when I realized
I could no longer
The years I spent
on your gracious presence
are nothing beyond
I hope I pass on
sooner than later
so that my promise
of being able
to live and die
can be the first one
There are no flowers
on either of our graves
but ours were lives
not to the world outside
but to the ocean between
us and the tides we let
ebb and flow
give and take
heal and hurt
No eulogy I could give
could ever express
all that you have made
all that I have blamed
you for being
You were the only solace
I have ever felt
and I will rot in dirt
for all eternity
without ever having
needed you at all.
There are no mistakes in life,
and it is our responsibility
and our right
to learn whatever we may
from what we have done.
With that being said
I've seen what he's done to you
and maybe you really have
forgiven and forgotten
but mine is no house of God
and I will do no such thing
I admit that my own lesson may
be one born of spite rather than
wisdom but despite its lineage
it is a lesson rooted so deep in my soul
that to deny it would be to stand
against my very being
I guess that's just a ******* way
of saying I'd rather die than watch
you wither away with him again.
But maybe your lesson is in clemency
and mine is just in letting go.
So I'm letting you go
and WHEN he hurts you
IF I'm still alive
YOUR lesson will be in heeding
the warnings of the scorned.
Or maybe just in picking better lovers.
I spent the morning staring at the clock.
Every second that ticked passed
was one breath closer to pulling the plug on her.
When the time finally came
I could feel a dark breeze blow through me
and I knew she was gone
and that was it.
I told my best friend I needed a drink.
So we got a drink
and as I'm sitting at the bar
I try to tell him how I'm feeling
but he stares me in the eyes and says
"Don't think about it".
He walked off and that was it.
Hours and drinks pass and I'm in another bar
with a familiar face pressed against my chest
with my arms wrapped tight around her.
She's warm and beautiful and affectionate
and everything I need right now
so when her phone screen flashes
and her boyfriend tells her goodnight with an "I love you"
I think nothing.
I feel nothing.
In this moment she is everything to me
and I couldn't care less what she means to anyone else.
She's mine, if only for a moment.
Even if it's a moment that means nothing to her.
Days have passed and my mind is swarming with thoughts
and my own cowardice in dealing with it.
My body aches.
I've been laying on this couch for three straight days
and all I want is for someone to hear me
so that I can force out these pervasive demons
that have made their home between my ears.
No one is there.
They've told me hundreds of times they love me
and I matter
and they're there for me
but when I reach out, not a single human creature is there.
Some apologize and make excuses
but most don't even acknowledge what worthless hypocrites they all are.
So quick to beg me for anything their fragile,
tepid excuses for hearts can desire.
So quick to depend on me but never around
to even hear me let out a sigh.
This is death.
This is loss.
This is another morning spent coughing up blood.
This is another day spent burying myself in work.
This is another night spent alone leading into
another day of blood, sweat, and solitude.
Never again will I mourn the loss of a loved one.
They all left me long ago.
All the elders in my life
take it upon themselves to guide me
to some mystical goal I apparently have.
Even my father,
a man who thinks of me as just a mistake,
has found it within himself to tell me
what it is I'm destined for.
They all use different words and syntax
and present it in their own unique way
but the message is just an echo.
"You're gonna be somebody you know.
With your smarts and the way you see the world,
you're gonna be big. No question.
You just need to take the time to sit back
and really ask yourself what it is you want
because lemme tell ya,
you can get it what with all you got"
But I smile and nod and sometimes
I even stare off into the distance
as if suddenly taken by some ethereal force
that will point me to the future.
In reality I couldn't care less what my elders think.
Or what anyone thinks about who I'm going to be.
What does it matter to you what I become?
It won't be because of you.
I have no idea what I want to be.
Why be anything?
So many of my days are spent juggling around
the idea of if I even want to be at all.
But their thoughts of me fill my head some nights
and I sit here staring up into the ceiling
for empty hours on end
trying to see myself as they claim to.
What is it that I really want?
In this moment
all I want
is to be ******
and high when it happens.
I figure that'd be just a fine thing to be.
She slid her ******* on
and looked at me with a smile.
"You've done a lot but
there's plenty more for you to do"
She left her boyfriend in a week.
She put her hands on my chest
and looked into my eyes.
"I just want you to
Her boyfriend was in Europe for the summer.
She put her phone face down
and never took her eyes off me.
"I told him I was at home
Saw her twice more and then never again.
She had the Devil's grin
as I held her hand in mine.
"Oh it was gift
from a friend".
Turns out he's her soulmate.
She touched herself and spread
the cigarette smell across my sheets.
"I need to have you whenever
Wonder if that's what she told the others?
She sat across from me
as we shared the same thought.
"We'd still be together
if it wasn't for him".
I owe him more than he knows.
She felt so strongly that
her words are the only I've kept.
"You're the only one I
trust enough to tell".
I lied to her and never saw her again.
So as yet another sits before me,
eyes bright, smile soft
with a sweet song whispering away between us,
I can no longer find any solace
in the comfort of the lie.
When I was struggling my
hardest to keep the will to
stay alive I was taking at most
three pills a day.
I just watched three dissolve in the
sweet tea in front of me while
another two continue to snake
their way through my veins.
I keep flashing back to the
day I first confessed to someone
I was hanging on by a thread.
I loved her enough to tell her
who I was and she loved me
enough to stay anyway.
And now I'm reminded by her
every smile that she sees within me
some strength, some reason to keep
All I see is a ****** up
pill head who can't even
control his own thoughts
I can't feel loved without them
but every moment I think about
how much I need them all I can
feel is hate which does nothing
but drive me deeper into need.
I want to tell her.
I don't want to hide.
But if she sees me for what I am
then she'll never see me again.
And I'm all out of pills for that.