Stuck

3/27/11

Stuck.

Ankle deep in molasses,

a fucking madman

screaming at some god I barely fear

to grab his crane-game arm, take aim,

get me the fuck out of here.

Free me from this red hot mess -

Yeah I've tried shifting focus, adjusting the zoom,

turning lenses like a locker combination convinced my determination

is moving these mountains.

Its not.

Sorry Mom, Sorry God.

But my shoes are still sticky sweet

and the fumes seep through several layers of sanity

'til my speech is a trial and reason?

Bitch please.

Couldn't use it I wanted to,

if I ever knew how to,

Always evaded me down alleyways and into swimming pools.

So tell your friends to bring a cooler,

pull up lawn chairs,

this shits gonna get good.

Crazy-molasses lady's ready to blow up the neighborhood.

This parade is one you won't wanna miss.

You were wrong.

Green

3/20/11

Up in smoke

the Summer of Our Lives

we banded together, didn't have instruments

but DAMN we had a time.

Naive enough to think the world would let us change it,

didn't ask permission

just followed the footsteps of idols who refused to cut their hair,

patched up the same pair of jeans til a tapestry, a story

was woven into the threads.

Heard their words and swore by them, THIS was the truth we had pressed to find

answers in lyrics amplified by a sweet perfume our circle centered around,

the green unleashing secrets we knew we'd die without.

Couldn't imagine paradise any different.

Money didn't matter except to keep us rolling,

minds molding into disciples of an unseen force,

morals shifted to a place where lying was doable.

Stealing inevitable.

The choice between love and NOW made easy by craving.

Highest priority given to go up blazing,

too blinded by the rush to see what was changing-

that the fun now looked more like a broken record.

Our personalities growing darker, searching in alleyways we hadn't expected to need

Moving past weed into capsules and powders that promised relief.

Told ourselves it was fun but I was scared as hell,

saw your palms sweat too the first time we crushed that pill.

But the problem with chasing is you get too scared to stop.

Took me nights of nightmares brought to reality to cry out

for help from somebody,

somewhere,

PLEASE.

Our easy days seemed like a parallel universe

compared to the prison my mind slept in.

Looking back on how it started, yeah I grin and laugh at the memories,

romanticize the summer afternoons but I can't forget to pay due to the eventually it lead to.

Remind myself how easy of a loop it is to reenter,

keep my body present,

spirit strong, heart centered on others and love and myself and REAL truths

Gotta leave my green in the past

Its always been the color of youth.

Of Christmas Past

3/19/11

Its Christmas Eve and all through the house

the ghost of you is shaking chandeliers

and making floorboards creak.

I lie on my back, knowing you roam these walls,

carefully counting down til daylight breaks.

Means dawn has come and YOU must leave.

You never could stand the sun.

Blamed it on a pale complexion,

but I know the rays highlighted imperfections you were too vain to show.

Too nervous that you'd be rejected if seen full on.

Never gave the chance for me to chose,

now you haunt my halls with padded footsteps,

sway by curtains disguised as a draft but

I know you better my love.

No need to mask anything, even truth.

Our understandings went deeper than that,

a holiday in each others arms sweeter than any sugar plum.

You made God matter less cuz you lived in color,

sinned in a rainbow, knew more than others who had swam ashore.

I believed it when you smiled.

And this night, hours before stockings filled with joy

my hands still feel filled with YOU.

Your shoulder, back, cheek all press into my palm

soft and smooth, beats God's grace by a mile cuz

THIS, this is bulletproof

Least it said so in the warranty, lifetime guarantee turned to dust by lines of fine print.

In a poof you were gone, left just one gift.

An embodiment of fears and pain wrapped up in a fucking bow with a card saying

"You were right."

Its been years, I've yet to open the package.

Each Christmas I muster up courage but the box is heavy and you're nowhere in sight.

Its left under the tree until... I don't know when.

Maybe your ghost will take it, make it finally end when it decides it's stay is up

and moves out from this apartment.

But I guess til then its back to counting sheep

with one eye on the clock, tomorrow's Christmas after all

and Santa doesn't come if you don't fall asleep.

A Petal

3/16/11

A petal, soft between my thumb and palm

left here, a remnant of your bouquet

taken back with briefcases full of drug stores.

One bedside table now empty.

Checked the drawers and even Gideon's Bible is missing.

Did you really have to drive the nail home so deep?

As if the broken vase wasn't clear enough.

I have 10,000 crystal shards to peer through,

press my lips to,

pray the blood that runs leaves slower than you did,

tastes closer to truth than you did,

makes stains on a hotel carpet more permanent than the ones left back home

so that the next broken heart to check-in can hear my story

through faded dark fibers,

know he's not alone, and me?

I'll be hearing birds, fresh arrivals with spring,

sipping coffee from our patio,

taking in peace before I turn all these floors to hardwood.

I'll donate your shoes, bathrobe, and volumes of novels you pretended you'd read eventually.

The problem with "somedays" finally ringing clear.

And as for this petal, thought about keeping it

pressed between pages of a foreign language,

one brimming with metaphors of our shipwreck

but you know what?

It's not like you left it on purpose.

Why hold onto a thread when I needed the rope?

This splinter's a sliver of the gangplank I clung to and even that wasn't stable.

My hope that a flower will grow from this reminder defies biology,

new plants come from seeds.

So I'll toss it out the window on the long drive home

and although the shotgun's looking empty

at least I get to pick the playlist.

I always hated your music.

Seriously, that shit was awful.

Hours Without Relief

3/14/11

Whats the difference between obsession and addiction?

Who gets to draw the line, decide where I place the blame for this

This fury

on onslaught

a hook that seems to stay tense no matter which way i scurry,

can't solve the tangled riddle of how to be obedient to a

mistress that pulls at my flesh.

Keeps it tight enough to bleed but just under ripping strength

I'd trade this tied down torment for a freedom even if it's skinless

Infection doesn't scare me half as much as her breathing on my neck

But the devils not offering

not bartering today.

So I'm back to the question of how to name this craving, a thirst

hunger

pull for life source

The driver stays hidden which nails home the point that

I'm not in control of a train straight to hell,

praying the engineer knows mercy or the coal pile runs out.

Broomhandle

3/9/11

Really? Really.

Did I just doodle your name?

Big bubble letters emblazoning my emotions onto paper, a canvas in your honor,

like a razor to skin only less violent

less permanent

less chance of letting infection seep in like the times before.

See look ma, I do learn from mistakes.

I know better than to let her break me, shattered into shards

on the tile floor.

I've got blisters from sweeping the mess, and a bloody broom handle in the closet.

This time the lion will be kept at bay.

I'm smart enough to stay in the present, not give in like a fool.

That wooden stool last time wasn't effective. Need some whips in my arsenal

and a back-up plan musket.

Need lead in my veins instead of this God damn blood that won't let me shake visions of picnics in summer,

long talks on our pillow, feel the touch of you on my shoulder, palm, cheek,

I smile at the I had a taste this afternoon, where's a spoon? I want the whole pie -

STOP.

Freeze.

Right there, yeah you.

We've been through this before, I've got proof

that affection turned to love doesn't lead home.

Just look at this broom - these stains are your own warnings against fairytales and forevers.

So just breathe in easy.

Draw some doodles. A heart or two.

Then fold it up and tuck it away, we've got living left to do

and you're running out of super glue.

Fender Bender

2/28/11

Rain like this just looks like surrender,

A fender bender where you dole out 200, don't even argue figuring its not worth the air.

Breath seems heavier these days, harder to let go of, harder to take,

touches the pool bottom of your pair of lungs. Seems a waste to explain to a brick wall bargainer

the reasonable details of nobody's mistake.

Just reach into a wallet to quiet the soloist riot in a polyester blend.

That's how I see the atmosphere on days like this one.

Clouds collectively saying "all right, you win, have fun" as raindrops dive bomb like demons outta hell,

an adrenaline filled foray to get back to Earth. Cumulonimbus waving goodbye from heaven's driveway.

Is it that easy to let 'em go?

I guess so.

I'm not meaning to over criticize but when through the glass pane

I see puddles, flash-mob streams, colorless skies, I kind of wanna ask "what the fuck nature?

Did you even try to stop it, try to convince your droplets that staying could be worthwhile?

Or did you throw up your hands and pay in cash, not willing to deal with the inconvenience,

surrendering to another lonely day and setting an example that the fight takes energy and that's in short supply.

That the victory's not guaranteed so lets be terrified to try."

Hopefully I can break the trend but nature's way is pretty strong

and my resolve has been a little thin.

Bring your umbrella just in case.