I sit alone in this garden of many colors,
Flowers bloom beautifully in this warm spring,
Seen through these eyes of mine, it grows duller and duller,
I cast my eyes down, feeling a shamed sting.

This breathtaking scene frustrated with me,
I crept to the center of these dense woodlands,
Moving beneath an ancient blue oak tree,
Grey still all around me, I sat with my head in my hands.

Minutes birthed hours.
Hours birthed days.
Days birthed weeks.
Weeks birthed eternity.

I know not how long I remained under that oak,
But I knew the cascading emotions within would not calm,
I rose to my knees, conjuring up some false hope,
Doing anything that I could to make myself carry on.

I found myself yearning for the poison once again,
I found my soul pleading and begging for another taste,
I felt my very ashes being ground against the grain,
As I locked myself away in solitude, my mind ever on that waste.

Life feels so very grey now,
Every color faded and old,
Crawling on by somehow,
With this heart still ice cold.

Here I still am, and here I will remain,
I wait for my live-giving spark to return,
Praying for an end to this ceaseless hurt and pain,
Praying for the singular want I still yearn.

Color to coat this grey slate.

Reverberating peals resonating thunders
in mind, unsilenceable relentless acute chimes
struck, by hollowing gales unwaveringly carrying
echoes of blemished memories through

the storm, attempting to rescue a forgotten past,
made of laughs and outbursts lost in glasses filled
with tears unshed, by misted eyes weeping only
dry, salted grains of unclear thoughts.

Resounding tinkles of scrambled long
distance calls between, consciousness and will,
conversations repeated over and over, one
speaking truth the other, seductive words

enticing logic with lies even reason struggles
to defy. Mayday ripples in high waters, searching
for flickering beacons, guidance to shore, finding
the strength to blow, dark clouds from the horizon,

switch off lightning and behold, the lighthouse
where unyielding sobriety revels.

doesn't matter how i hold it,
liquor in my hand brings shame to the man

i've sat at hundreds of dinner tables,
watched the women politely drink their water,
nobody stops their husbands from making fools of themselves
and my father takes pride in never having asked to be picked up from a bar
there's so much more i expect in a good man than sobriety

i drink to forget, more often to mourn than celebrate
i am classless, i am not marriage material anymore

it's 1:15 in the morning, and i see brown curly hair
and heartbreak wearing it like a costume
approaching me

6'2" and probably a little younger than me
still, he gets to be the tower
even though i've been here longer

you can't hear wedding bells in a place this loud
i took a (tequila) shot in the dark, and kissed him like i meant it

southern girl
lily petals,
you buy me
flowers
first paycheck
no more drugs
they smell like
warm bedsheets
hotel coffee
sun