You steal your thoughts
From memories never lived
Hoping that terror will hide
In a whisky filled teacup

It's the 1 a.m blues again
(Everything is burning
Everything is burning
Everything is burning)
And your friends pretend happiness
By feigning death and snoring.

You did not sign up for this, you know,
Not the cold nor the bit of blood
From the lip you cut too hard
But you've got it, anyway,
So you may as well ****
But everyone who'd touch you is gone,
Looking to love and not simply make it

You cannot think what then you were

Now it's morning
Go to church, eat a sermon
The leaves are crackling in the wind
And your Sunday is cried away at the pews
Breadcrumbs burning your ears
A poet can bleed, they say,
If his ears are torn up with words enough

Now it's night again and you're trying
"Beloved", you say. The mirror does not reply
"Beautiful", you say. The mirror does not reply
"Broken", you say. The lights go out
Now you can go to bed
With your eyes open
Waiting for sleep to say
"How do you do? Let's hold each other forever."

~

he is a stone...

one side
polished smoothly;
the tumbling years,
the pain of tears,
in currents swift
cannot resist them
water’s unyielding flow;
to pain the edges
falling,
yielding slow.

yet another side exists;
a side so deeply etched,
with thoughts contrived
for sole survival;
where words belie a depth
in soul's arrival;
made whole, a step removed
from hope bereft,
for in the naked light,
of bleating heart's
interrogation room,
a bottom lies
of darkest night...
here beginnings of
a ressurection,
a will to be
so long as there is
air to breathe!

which side they see
is of his choosing;
his composure rich
a brief exposure is,
just the smallest glimpse,
but for a moment
what he shares.
for he has learned
that rocks are not
so hard as he
once thought;
and fissures deep,
can be revealed,
as cracked and broken,
if to all in this
unfeeling world,
he bares his truest soul.
and so he hides
the other side,
unyielded to
outside control.

with certainty,
his stone has
two faces.

~

*post script.

if we are honest with ourselves, do we not all have two faces? and is not this honesty our impetus... become our empathy... for others?
for me,  it is this honesty that allows me to love what i would not otherwise love in others.