i cannot remember how uncomfortable the chairs at my highschool were – i just know that they must have been so. all those science classes kept both my eyes on the window, lost in dreams of different lives. i thought ‘nobody cares’ was a good reason to erase my problems – mine, not theirs, no, ha! – so i went along with that life (emphasis, though, on the li-e). that’s when i discovered the one way to go: words. stories. a dim, slow lightbulb that caught me unawares. first fearful steps turned to blog posts, then a fantasy tome; short fiction gave way to poetry and recovery. it took me years to know what to be floating on air is – and now this broken english is what i call home sweet home, imbued with the daily gift of a grand discovery: that there are worlds still hiding from me in dictionaries.
Half asleep feet shuffle in aimlessly; Water fills the celestial coffeepot. Chocolate brown grounds by a spoon are allot. A spoonful spills to the floor! This marks its tragedy. Another, another, so painfully, This tragedy would make any distraught. How can sleep be torn from eyes so bloodshot Without the black elixir so holy?
The sleepy feet walk through the garage door, Each brooms' handle is long like cold harpoons. It sweeps up the wasted dreams on the floor. "I measured out my life in coffee spoons."1 The tedious toil begins once more, And so go the morning coffee mistunes.
1 - From "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot
the scent of woman broke about me as I entered slow the small shared dorm, his mattress lay stripped bare and I did form the reason he had asked that I delay. his anxious questions sought to fill silence, an empty space that she had left behind. In truth I would not say I was unkind, but how I tried to torture roommate mine. I was not bothered he had used our space, I too in past had indulged love's embrace; but this only happens once in a while and how his discomfort could make me smile.
A million little thoughts, their heads cut off, all running laps around my crowded skull and multiplying, unlit Molotov. I feel like i'm going insane, it’s awful to be in this headspace of anxiousness, just waiting for the straw to break my back, always one second from the bright abyss. It could be that I just need to cutback Or maybe what i need is just to go, I'll drive until I can't and then I'll run. I’ll up and leave everything that I know to find the path that's not a loaded gun. I can't imagine asking for all this, God let me meet peace with a final kiss.
I feel my old burns heal over again The restlessness of withdrawals still here Just one more cut to quiet thoughts within Just one more burn to calm the constant fear Just one more viewing to feel less alone Though I have endless private tabs lined up Just one more drink while I scroll through my phone A new shopping spree to feel like enough But my demons will never go away I cut, drink, and ******* to drown it out Who cares if I lose touch, I love the pain I've already far outlived my planned day My plans keep shattering, I've no set route But I can't have you see me like that again
Mostly a venting piece bc I'm trying not to relapse into self harm and sometimes addiction kicks your *** really suddenly 60 days in.