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Martin May 2019
To all my waking hours,
Spent on wilting beds of flowers,
To all my moments wrest,
Come sweetly now to rest,
To my biles bitter taste,
from words I've put to waste,
To the way I blindly grasp,
At loves sour clasp,
To the way I wait for you,
Even though I always knew,
To the way I think on moments past,
Stolen, just at the last,
To the things i'll leave behind,
And what I pray they find,
To the final breath I take,
I raise my drink and stake,
Rest the wounds left in my wake,
Live to feel another ache.
Martin May 2019
My calendar is empty, June to December,
Ingesting synthetic Alzheimer's, ‘til I can't remember,
All the days in my life, all the days in the year,
Rejecting all the advice, that I can't even hear,

I can cater to longing, I can cater to needs,
But not to my future, and not to my dreams,
I pick the poison I deserve, to get the push and the shove,
That I need to run away, from all the things that I'm sick of.

I am made of oil, my worlds made of water,
In can never connect, but as I grow hotter,
My body and mind, they bend with straits,
The currents of life, they crush me like weights,
I bubble, blend and break, I float and I sink,
I can't stop drifting apart, so all I do is drink,
Bits of me are scattered, all around me, it seems,
But I couldn't hope to get them back, I can't see through the seams,
Of the novice sewing job I've made of my connections,
The knots of my relationships sick up in every direction,
But all I do is float here, and watch them unravel,
My thoughts suddenly idle, like feet kicking gravel,
I can kick scream and cry, about my inaction,
But I can't bring myself to fight, I'm lost in abstraction,
Of the things in mind, conjured from quiet,
But I can't stomach it all on this ***** only diet,
All I hear is the fan in my window, and the fountain outside,
I feel the heat on my skin, and the wound in my pride,
The wind whistles in the treetops and the frog croaks persist,
But it doesn't matter now, nothing outside this room exists.

I can chase it with comfort, I can chase it with love,
But that won't let the hope in, the light from above,
Lost among my stupor and the hypnotic vapors,
All these things I can't help, tears seeping into paper.

All these things i've forgotten, all the times that are gone,
All the things I've put forward, all the things I've withdrawn,
I can cater to longing, to all the little things,
The words slide from my thoughts, water off a wing,
I'm dying, dissolving, rotting away,
It's dictating all my movements, I don't got any say,
This dysmetamorphosisis is unraveling me,
Every step is stagnant, I just couldn't foresee,

My tongue feels thick and my words won't stop slurring,
Everything is vivid but my vision is blurring,
My mind lags behind and my body moves slow,
I feel free at last, but deep down I know,
I'm killing myself, slowing as possible,
Nursing on poison, So I'm not responsible,
I can't think anymore, the words just won't come,
I scream and I cry, but my mind is still numb,
I can feel everything slipping, just what I needed,
What I crave to numb the wounds I've left untreated,
I can't muster the words, or the strength or the will,
To do what it takes, to finally distill,
My wants from my needs, my comforts from addictions,
To break out the haze, to break out of my fiction,
But for now, I am safe, swaddled in the embrace,
Of the things that will **** me, what I dare not erase,
I'm already here, why leave so soon,
It's alright, I can stop, I'm immune.

— The End —