I tear flesh from myself and toss it into the flames;
Not to watch it burn but in hopes I can make the hole in my heart a tangible part of my being..
I won't need a warning label if people can peek in and see for themselves there's nothing left of a real man.
Like Pinocchio I strive to feel a thump in my chest but a wooden core doesn't pump.
I'm dancing attached to strings like a Halloween skeleton in a bad movie.
All grin and nothing to back it up.
It's useless to think someone might share their heart with mine and bring me to life.
I'll fill the hole in my chest with clear apoxy and dance empty with that skeletal grin stretched comically over a hard face holding nothing.
Eventually I'll feed the fire with my bones and turn to dust,
as old toys do.
There's nothing like a paper man for tinder.

Time flies when you're having fun?
*******, time flies when you're down and done.
Time flies when you're dying inside.
When you're picking up the pieces and crying in need,
time leaves.
There's no time, to settle or ease.
There's no time, because time never sleeps.
There's no time, so don't beg and don't plead.
Time will leave you for dead.
Time left, and it doesn't care about the time that you spent.
You're going through the motions and you're barely alive but,
time flies when you're dying inside.

I fired one up on the loading dock
after eating lunch at the workplace cafeteria
I only smoke after a meal or when I'm contemplating death
and I may be contemplating death
because I just had lunch at the workplace cafeteria

my Mother would have a cigarette after dinner
and one before bed
that's probably where I got it
I got a lot of things from my Mother
and I lost a lot of things when she passed
much of my patience
along with a good chunk of character
I still don't cross the line
it's just gotten a bit further away

the memories of childhood have faded
like dates on old concert stubs
but the pain they both endured
in those last few years remains vivid
a stark reminder that life has balances
that illness does not discriminate
that bad decisions are unforgiving
I also believe that the after
holds balance as well
that someday
we will again be wrapped in the arms
of those we miss in life
and all shall be forgiven

You died two years ago,
when she left.
Yea you're still walking but you're just a corpse with a heartbeat and you know it.
You're trapped.
She never bothered to release the restraints she placed on you so you stay shackled by misery in a room guarded by lonliness.
You sit as your heart tears at itself while your brain stands watching in callous disinterest.
Sure,
you breathe,
but each inhale leaves only the feeling of drowning without the sweet escape of death.
You beg the reaper to take you, he says he wants to see how this all plays out.
He's never seen a man eat his own heart.
Everyone else insists you must keep going but,
they don't know what you know.
They don't know you died
two years ago,
when she left.

(03/05/09

How long before the day ends,
and night begins,
do we begin to see it coming,
and think about days ending,
and forget to enjoy the time we have,
to dwell as deeply inside it as we can?
Wasted hours thinking about might be’s and could be's
and what might have been's,
as "now" and "are" pass by,
gone forever.
Whole years now gone in a sad pool
of despair and wishes,
never to return or be seen again,
a sin of worthless regrets and tears,
committed against one's life,
we did it to ourselves,
in the end,
while placing all the blame somewhere else,
on someone else,
and all the time it was inside us all.
Never looking back was a creed, a religion,
or so we said,
as we lived with the dead,
and never looked up from the ground.
I wonder at the stars and suns we never saw,
or rainbows..
all of them around us,
as much ours as anyone else's,
but refused and unopened gifts for most,
because we walked in shadows of our own making.
I wonder at the lateness of the hour,
and the day,
and the year,
I wonder... can I step into my now,
and leave what used to be behind?
Is the door closed to what might be,
like it is for might have been?
I hope not,
as night falls once again,
and dreams come of a life not lived,
and the world turns anyway.
JC 2009

There is a day
for most,
or at least
too many,
where all the dreaming dies.
How sad,
to sleep,
and wake,
only to sleep
again,
with nothing
in between.
I remember when
each and every day,
I thought the next,
might be better.
No more,
I'll die
where I last sit
there's nowhere
else
to go.
Too old to battle
too old
to even
make
the effort.
I wish
I'd seen it
coming.
Prepared for it,
some how,
some way.
But no,
and so,
I sit,
in an empty
room,
lie
in an empty
bed.
Goodbye's
were said,
but not
acknowledged,
as all
my dreams
walked away.