Spinning 'round
Tumbling down
Falling ever faster

Can't catch my breath
Scared to death
What a disaster

With nothing else to do
I reached out for you
But no one was there

I dreamt too long
Reality has gone
All that's left is the nightmare.

The promises I made,
I had to break
to save myself from
this destruction wake.
Waking up, in a bed.
That isn't your's or mine,
It's like time stopped
So I could count every line.
Every sentence that came
out of my mind.
They say feelings can't be wrong,
which is why it felt so right.
For a drunken night,
and a beautiful good morning.
And my, was it a beautiful morning.
For a second I smiled.
For a second I was happy.
But it wasn't you,
So I feel,
guilty.

Consciousness rears its reptile head;
Medusa in the morning gloom.
You wake to iron silence,
a tourist in a rented room.
I have never feared death
but often been terrified of life.
Chaos theory is not a balm
when the unexpected fall begins,
the sudden plummet into strife.
Life says no so often and loudly
we begin to doubt the yes.
The performance begins anew;
the usher guides you to your seat.
The mortal day coiled like a viper
ready to strike and poison.
Wise souls move through the murk
one careful step at a time.
When you rise, check your weapons;
be careful where you place your feet.
   ~mce

I wake up every morning
and the sun is shining
yet my head's heavy
from dreaming,
Groggy from
sleeping;
But this
fades.

Thunder storms,
crazed lightening,
downpours,
nightmares,
intermittent sleep.

How different
the world appears
after such
a tortured night.

Grey, dripping,
bleak and dismal.

God must be
in Portugal
working
on his tan.

I feel like
a minor player
in some cheap
film noir movie
trying to remember
my lines.

Shooting starts
any minute now.

****,
who am I?
- mce

Moved to allpoetry.com

Sunlit rays slant through
Like traces in the dark,
Incandescent beams
Flinging dust motes and dreams
Into sharp relief.

Eyelids crawl open
To a dim shelter
Of duvae red, faded.

A peek over the edge
Sets the stomach a'quiver,
An urge to leap fought off
By fatigue; you stay in camp
And slowly stretch your muscles.

An electronic foghorn
Signals your doom.
An avalanche of cotton,
And your back protests
At the sudden weight.

The tether snaps
And you fall
Into the dark of the day.

Stepping out of bed listening to
Sun Araw yelp like a cat on marijuana
and wondering if we're all the spawn
of some great singular being.

Lying in your work clothes,
lying to yourself about showing up late
working towards that infinite nothing,
wondering why people expect dreams
out of people, instead of just
give some mercy to the suffering.

Talking about age makes me want to die young.

It's pink and orange and soon it's blue,
but it's still the loveliest most childish
painting the sun has ever spread out
for your eyes to see.

Put on work boots for a job that'd
be just fine with sneakers.
Get your ducks in a row,
and let the cute girls with
big eyes and colored hair
shoot them down
one by one
by one.