Imprisoned

Pouring regrets,
mistakes,
guilt,
into this
rocks glass

*neat please*

it’s the way…
the road
to perdition

a constant
hell
of one’s own making

exoneration
is a
pipe dream

as lucidity fades
culpability
becomes
a
faint tendril
disintegrating into
the dawn

forgiveness
teasing
with the
rising
of the sun

self-delusion

as it
diminishes

returns
to the
blurred
and sloppy
self-loathing
as the
exhaustion
of BEING
becomes a dense,
thickened, hairy
weight
on the
soul

all that is left
for respite
is sleep

only to
repeat
on the morrow

Fleeting

Your head
resting still
upon my chest

dark brown hair
freshly washed
now dry
baby chick fuzz
against my fingertips

a hand
coarse
rough
gentle touch to
my arm

this moment
coming
and
already
vanishing

our bodies
tangled limbs
half open
lusting mouths

the pulsing
breathing
rhythm
of
this
fleeting
final
fuck

until the
next time

The Bottom

Drowning
Gasping
Swallowing gulps of
Desolation

I had a life jacket
Ripped it off
Was so
Constricting

It kept me from swimming

Who knew

I just needed to keep afloat

Now
Sinking to
The Depths

Eyes glazing
over
Pulse slowing
Heart faltering

I will never
See
The Sun Rise
or Set
Again

I did this to myself

They Won’t Love You Less If You Don’t Make A Mess

all the skeletons
sitting quietly in my closet
piled one atop the other
neat and organized
collecting dust in storage

are others
as orderly as mine

or
are they a haphazard mess
femurs and fubulas
tumbling tibias
scattered scapulas
avalanching out in a chaotic cacaophony
whenever someone
merely
jiggles
the knob

not sure
but the idea
bothers me

no

its best to keep
these things
trim and tidy

should a stranger
peek in

They’ll see
only
winter coats
rain boots
and stacks of
nothing
important

4/16/16

I have too many things going on in my head sometimes. Serious things, ridiculous things – all manner of subjects running around like sugar soaked toddlers, haphazardly and clumsily bumping into each other, making a high holy mess of all I have worked so hard to compartmentalize. And I am powerless to stop what has already begun.

When it’s over (it does eventually wear itself out) there goes everything. All my ideas, opinions, notions, deep introspections, flights of whimsical meandering musings – just trashed and laid out. Passed out amid the broken boxes of what I had once tucked away, never to be bothered with again.

But that happens. It happens all the time. And I am once again set to task with the cleanup of my mind. And this makes me moody. It is not something I can easily explain to my significant other. To my friends. Hell, to myself. I have tried… but the best I’ve come up with is, “My head is messy today.”

Today is not Messy. It is the Day After Messy. I assess, recalibrate the gears of my inner mechanics, and attempt to move forward again. The Day After, I am in a much better state of being. Happy, even. Or as close to happy as I can get. Maybe this makes sense, maybe it doesn’t.

Eh. Just trying to maintain a semblance of sanity. *wink wink*

My worn aging face
A topography of sorts
Where I’ve been
Where I’ve yet to go

Yet
This is where I am now.

X
You Are Here.

Let me just stop and rest for a spell.
I’m in no rush
For the next destination.