So there.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMVI)


Yes, fire.  We plunked down on the fur rug thence
Afore her fireplace, and I in betrayl
Neglected to erm, lose me on its hale
And licking flames, e'en that romance' pretense
Was blind to--wherefore? Sandwiched for intents
Twixt two guy friends, I was too dull t'avail
Me even there, yea lost myself in pale
'Scuse in auld lines to Nigel, like's good sense.
Now Sunday watches diesel trucks roar fer
Sweet hours through lonesome country roads 'neath blue
Skies nary cloud is but a ghost in, poor
As saying.  I told a friend I'm as a melon you
Cleaned out, sans Mum, and what as twere
Is left?  LORD, give me Thy fruit.  And kids too?

11Mar18b

Another Saturday evening that I wish I could leave my house and spend time around others
who have crafted intricate masks to hide their hurting, but my mask is crumbling
because it has been worn too much lately, so tonight will be spent
curled up in bed.

I can't escape the storm of thoughts and emotions and desires
and expectations and memories and songs and nightmares and
E V E R Y T H I N G
swirling through my head.

The pain swells in my chest, bubbling up but unable to break out
because these demons refuse to let me assign words to them as I try to cry out for help -
so I stop trying and I lie down to let the burden rest on my heart,
heavy like lead.

My attempts to break out of this funk are futile
(this monster knows me worlds better than those who wish good upon me)
and the harder I chase after hope the more
I am filled with dread.

Sometimes it feels like I've gathered together the shreds of my existence
and made great progress in patching together the pieces with the meager tools I've found,
but my tools are coarse and jagged; they leave behind a
blossoming trail of red.

While I labor so diligently to create beauty wherever I wander,
the shadows laugh at my sorry attempts of pursuing happiness when they know full well
that in order to demolish my collection of mismatched tatters all they must do is
keep pulling at the thread.

All I desire is to reach out and connect with others who are more experienced than I
in travelling the road of misery, but have learned to look up and focus on the bright beams of light that break through the clouds instead of letting the rocky path
rip them to shreds.

One time I found another that was hurting deeply, just like me. I wanted to know how he sang of light and peace while at the same time housing those demons within his soul. I tried to learn by befriending him, but my presence was too much. This isn't just my mind playing tricks on me.
I am clingy; it's what he said.

I'm an Artist.

So I don't have to go out on Saturday to feel cool.

I can just stay in and get artsy.

∆ Aaron La Lux ∆

Saturday's

Why are they so important?

Why do they mean so much?

Last Saturday I was at a bar talking to Canadians at a bachelor party--one of which bought me drinks all night and wanted to makeout with me.

The Saturday before that I went out with some friends I hadn't seen in a long time.

And before that, I went out with my friends to this area that had so many bars filled with people who drank themselves into stupors--kind of like I did the Saturday before that one.

I was dumped. So I drank--a lot I drank. That Saturday was a mess.

But tonight is Saturday and I didn't want to do anything, yet I felt like I should. So I did. I went to a friend's house to drink, but I didn't go out. I felt tipsy, I felt surrounded by friends, but I also felt sad.

He was out. He was happy. And he definitely was probably not sad.

But I was.

It's funny how break ups work--they make you question even the smallest things, like the purpose of Saturday's, ya know?

dinner done and plates are scraped
now sitting around
laughing at our stories
crazy nothing stuff
this makes it all worthwhile
God, I love my family

@journeyofdays