3am Musings

Buy the Book

1

Numbness is the current and constant
Legs crossed in a white room of nothing
Face drooping from exhaustion of stagnant life
Glazed orbs blind to the physical,
ignorant of the heart, hyper aware of the mind
White runs to streak cracked wood
Knotted, twisted from new to desiccated
Throat caked with dust accumulated from dry air
Jaw locked in a state of confusion
between impending broken silence and apathy
Like rotted leaves, veins blue as ice
Straining against translucency to freedom
Necessary for eternal life, eternal death
Crusted flecks fall from limp muscle
gathering in piles of hope once had
eliminating a future with each flutter
Lighted sparks suffocated by stale air
Fire and consumption lost their heading and fall to disgrace
Neck turned to stone, grey licking through
growing and stretching, hardening at each bend
Pliancy giving way to a force from beyond
Allowance, a downfall of trepidation
A result of broken pieces of soul
lost from the puzzle
Concluding in a life that is not lived

2

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I don’t know if I can believe that; because sitting here, staring at the hazy yellow sky, nothing can capture the beauty. I guess its funny, when I have this image of perfection displayed right before me, that your face takes over my mind. And now I see two different types of beauty. One happy and one sad. So I try to come up with a way to combine the two but they don’t fit together how I want them to and I end up smudging one and crinkling the other. And maybe that’s why people take pictures. So they can have a perfect copy of the beauty they ruined.

3

The blackness is a poverty of thought
Barren wasteland that extends as far as the eye can see
cannot understand the depth
It’s a pulse, a life-force that has disintegrated
crumbling to a mere thrum of existence

A ripping and tearing of being

Picking up the broken shards of intellect
the dried dregs of creativity

That’s all that’s left
No longer disruptions or thrills
static air, an impending doom

The consumption of will and then what is left over

4

White covers you like a turtleneck
Raised skin blatantly apparent
Shivers look like convulsions in your tiny cocoon

Tired, faded blue, rimmed by grey
Aging beyond recognition
a face I knew

They called them cords
I called them ropes
Securing you to a world
that clearly wanted you gone

Thin cold fingers is the last memory
Incessant beeping
I was driven mad
You smiled because you knew

The future glowed bright in my eyes
like the great lie it was
Your last gift was to let me keep that alive

It wasn’t pretty
I loved it in all of its beauty
You kept me alive until you couldn’t

Your strength gave out on you
whisking away on the wind,
it took seconds

A blink of an eye
A turn of a head
A wave of a hand
I let go of you
You interpreted that as acceptance
It was utter denial
You let go of everything

A drought in my tear ducts
the shortage lasted years
no sight of relief

No want perhaps

I welcomed pain as an old friend

Grey ringed my face when I wore
that white turtleneck
It wasn’t exactly the same, but I had tried

Ropes bound me to nothing
Hung limply to the floor
Beeping, quiet, background noise

I didn’t smile
No one would have seen
I let go of me
Thin, cold fingers my last memory

5

She ruined black coffee and the 7 o’clock morning sun. She ruined road trips and the sound of rain. She ruined the color blue and the pages of the tattered book that now lies discarded, under my bed. She ruined lingering kisses and 3am sex. She ruined sideways smiles and the random outbursts of laughter. She ruined all my favorite things. But, she ruined my concept of love and that is my only regret.

Because it is the one thing that cannot be replaced.

6

I imprison myself in nouns
Slamming doors closed just to hear a sound
I fight the impulse
but a box closes nonetheless
trapping me in steel walls
My strength fails me

Weakness flows through my veins
My mind closed off from expectations
Shouts of curses
Thrumming, blasted poem

A vision of success falters
blurs to failure
a body gives way to water
a ruined story creating desperation for new

I reinvent but futility is my best friend
A golden surge of passion
Clutching on with thin strands I swear to forget
Memory is trickery
Forgetting a love is a lost cause
Maybe I’m not though

Words are saviors in more ways than one
Pulling out of despair
Pushing into anguish
Embracing a shaking body
Caressing a warm heart

The meanings are endless
I’m not a word but in that way
I’d like to be

7

I’m stuck on remembrance
with a bottle of cheap liquor
and a burning cigarette

Guides from oblivion
bitter smoke paving a track
to a new unconcern

Blurred lights span to the edge
of my vision
Skin rubbed raw from concrete
Wind slapping the wounded

I inhale memories
that dry me out.
I exhale the dead thoughts
that fall straight to the ground
ten floors down.

I watch and see an easy future
ten floors would be fast
Spread arms welcoming the wind
I step back, not forward
courage? Maybe lack of

8

Walks clear the mind. Feet fumbling over uneven pavement might be a metaphor for life. Asphalt rarely causes you to fall hard. A small stumble is all. You right yourself quickly. But, sometimes you fall and can’t get back up. The streets are vacant and no one hears your cry for help. And maybe you can’t get back up from that fall. “It’s going to get better” or “it’s going to be okay” never help heel skinned knees. That one moment in time is lost. It won’t get better because it can’t. But the rest of the future, that can be better. Your fall doesn’t help you get up; what comes after does.

I’m tired of people telling me “it’s going to be fine” when it’s not. And that belief is okay. That ruined moment isn’t the end or the beginning or even the middle. It’s inconclusive.

WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: