To all the ones who didn’t make it,
Tell me are you finally at peace?
Did the weight of the world truly leave you be?
I’m simply asking because I am one of the ones who did make it
And wonder what would have happened if I didn’t make it?
Has the addiction to be perfect stopped eating you from the inside out?
Or the need to please everyone, by now surely that drive must no longer be around?
To all the ones who didn’t make it, tell me it got easier?
What about the voices, the voices in your head that could never be drowned out, the voices that always told you “you’d never be good enough” for the love of god tell me they finally listened, tell me they finally shut up?
And are you still able to feel numb to all the hurt?
That you don’t have to fight the cravings any longer? Tell me, tell me there is no harm to just giving in?
Tell me, tell me please
To all the ones who didn’t make it, tell me how it was worth it?
Or would you rather ask me first?
Would you rather ask me how warm the sun feels on a lazy august afternoon?
Because you can’t seem to remember what that feels like any longer
Or if the roses still bloom with the promise to smell sweet and to bring the honey bees around?
You’re starting to forget what they look like
What about chocolate you ask, is it still known to melt in your mouth and bring a smile to your face?
At least that is what you think the rumours you heard say
And is laughter with loved ones truly contagious?
It’s been a while since you’ve done it yourself
You go on to ask about blue skies and cozy rainy days
Old teachers that made you fall in love with learning and the ones you’re happy you’ve forgotten about
We discuss friendships new and old and how far they’ve come sadly in your absence
And when I’ve answered all your questions you finally agree to answer mine
But I simply smile and say,
To all the ones who didn’t make it, may you please forget I ever asked?

My dreams are bright
feather light
at night
conditions right
Carefree
Mind free
Life's challenges
to be won
Feeling warmth
from noonday sun

I dream of water
floating
boating
with Dad
Sparkle Lake
water ripples
Lost Dad
Double nickels
Still sad
Memory trickles

I dream of sky
Fly
High
Cropduster
Single prop
Big John
Name drop
Macho swagger
Li’l Baby
Taildragger

I dream in hues
greens, blues
Love so true
dancing with you
Faces aglow
manhattans flow
******
Need a drummer
Low-rent venues
party continues

I dream less bright
feather light
at night
conditions right
Carefree
Mind free
As when I
was young
Colder now
in the setting sun




Mark Toney © 2021

SA Trigger Warning*

I can still remember the couch.
The way I cried in my friend's arms when I thought of that couch.
Pinned down.
Abused.
Forcefully used.
On the couch.

Couch.

I still remember going into my apartment alone after.
The way my body shaked for nights spent crying in my bed after.
At my friend's apartment after.
In the hospital after.
Years after.

After.

They say the mind can forget sometimes,
but what always remembers the trauma is the body.
The one that kicked and fought off the body.
The one that layed under the body.
The violated body.
The tortured body.
The unsafe body.

The Body

After

The Couch...

was never the same.
Not for me to blame.

I know that now.

I remember a Tuesday afternoon,
the closest star falling
behind the hilltops,
its leftover magic piercing
its way in between the trees.
The leaves, a canopy above
our heads, an arbor guiding us
to the moon.

I remember holding your hand
when we stopped, the car
growing quiet as I turned off
the engine. Our hushed laughers
as we got the blankets
out of the trunk.

I remember laying them down
on the dirt, the ground damp
from that morning’s rain,
the stars vast and endless.
Each one another day
I wished to spend with you.

I remember pulling you close,
your curls ticking my cheek
as you lay your head
on my chest. My fingers
rubbing along your back,
your arm, your stomach.

I remember never wanting
to see another sunrise.

I remember never wanting
that moment to end.

I remember you.

I remember when I used
to love you.

we regurgitate
ideas with which we grew
acid worlds we knew