Living life with everything you own stuffed into bags, two of them, dragging yourself
along
Living for that hour on the phone, once a day where you can really breathe
again
By blind luck or some odd chance I stand barefoot on this cold, tile, floor,
tonight
Coughing out the last drag of a cigarette, waiting for the last load to finish spin
cycle
Crammed into rooms of what were once strangers, now brothers, more so than
blood
Brothers through mutual suffering, who have stood by you in the rain & sun, we slept
with our boots on
I fill the page with thoughts, but crumple them into ugliness, only to try again, my
definition of insanity
Awash in unnoticed silence, bombarded by ignored white noise, that is truly
inescapable
To experience that silence one must sleep, dreamless, but does one even register
that blissful absence?
Or do we simply drift in & out of these days, unconscious of our own consciousness,
simply breathing?
Someone once said “we are all alone together”, truly we are simply alone,
nothing more
When you step back from it, life becomes almost comical, a grand production,
on a world scale
We are so trapped in our plastic & concrete lives; we have forgotten the feeling of
dirt between our toes, in our hair, under your perfect, pink, fingernails
To stand naked in the creek & watch the sun burn through lazy piles of
clouds
We try to remember those things, but it is tarnished, like cheap silverware, stained
like her cheap china plates
We toil & we sweat & we sign our lives away to walk into a coffin, all that’s left a
pile of bones & pictures on the fridge
To fit a mold, to achieve some sterile, dictionary definition of happiness, a tie & suit
smile & a pack of smokes a day
Drinking to forget the sound of the alarm clock, the feeling of that dull razor dragging
across your face
And this page is worthless, like the words “Fuck” scratched out In the bathroom stall,
faded black lines
And these words are pointless, if I hung it somewhere it would be torn down, if I read it aloud
I’d be laughed at
But I sit here & lie to myself again, push another line out of this careless
ballpoint
The buzzer clicks on & I throw the socks in the dryer, they’ve shed their dirt, but mine
is harder to wash away