I have a heart full of cement
I've sang your lament over again
But every song has the same intent
Like something permanent.
I regret not having a patent on your scent
Or the way your teeth are bent or broken
Like at some point a decent person
Had a cruel accident
But, against your jaw
A fists descent...
.....To punish you?
Forever augment that one percent of you
I don't know the intent of the event
But, I do know you underwent some hell
To get to me, in our present
That doesn't matter my gent
My denouement is becoming distant
...you are here
And there you went
But our two souls are the water and powder
That create cement...
Rain, so fine just like dust
looking at sky, purple,
over-the-top roller coasters
Peaking at 92 mph
dodging the yellow
More than numbers, I passed
Cardboard windshield for glass
Clarity, it comes and goes
I need to slow down
Even when I'm
Running inside, closing down and shutting off
It might be easy for some
It's torture to me... I torture myself.
No one cares when I disappear
No one notices
My phone doesn't ring.
Maybe I miss Facebook events
Some of which included a family death
And still, my phone didn't ring.
No one knocks on my door
No questions are asked of what's going on
When I announce my retraction
They slightly caring folks will await
A Facebook update
They don't call.
The whole world goes on
while I'm trying to not post my depression
for the five friends that care.
Although the care only reaches as far as
waiting for my facebook post
telling them I'm "ok"
My hand held out...
...to guard your back
When your friendships lacked
...to give money or supplies
When you couldn't survive
...to hold your hand
When you needed support
...to give you a hug
When you needed love
...to high five yours
At all of your endeavors
...to pat on your back
When you succeeded this or that
...to throw a thumbs-up
Because you never gave up
My hand held out...
...to cover my eyes
Through all of the lies
...to hide evidence
When you lacked common sense
...to understand the unreal
Amounts of items you'd steal
...to my chin to stipulate
The way you'd manipulate
...to cover my heart and divert
From your stories that hurt.
I could do this when I had two hands.
I could juggle these separate demands.
My dominant hand is limp now.
The tasks I take on are now simple.
I can only do one thing at a time.
Like, write out this single line rhyme.
When you see my hand out...
...from utter desperation
Please don't tabulate your accommodation
...remember I never asked before my disability
That you had previously admired my stability
...homeless, dirty and hungry
Offer to help me, without charging money
...keep in mind, it's the only one I have
My abilities and tasks all need to be halves
...perhaps don't act put-out or surprised
Because the person who's asking is paralyzed.
My freedom of expression,
Or, freedom to exist...
I've had to suppress, any implication,
That I was free, IT was free,
Or that I could rest.
My obligations became innovations,
My "freedom" was a serious test.
Shut my mouth.
Silence my thought.
Burn holes in my own sky...
Just to... Get by.
There's no blood on the hand
of the devil begging for a gun...
But, the blood of my son,
My thoughts, my thighs,
My sun, my sky...
I idealized and fantasised
Something in-between dead and alive.
But this is literal.
Cry freedom for a body that fails.
An existing breath that bent steel.
Locked in the prison with 10 wardens.
Slave to a super power.
And I'm furious you sent me a bill.
I ate your currency.
I'm... Fed... Up.
Your devil is free to stare,
poke fun and share
This is literal.
A year and a half has passed since I crashed my motorcycle.
The broken bones and road rash had since been cast away.
The gassed up tank and fast paced life were smashed together.
A singular bash that cached my memory.
Lights flashed and all of the sudden whiplash has new meaning.
This thrash of two autos blinked my eyelash three days later.
I lay flabbergast.