Only natural

A night of rum and nature documentaries
Of pregnant pauses to reflect
On past lives
People and places that still exist
Growing and moving on
Evolving beyond me
Continuing without me.
I'm digesting this as I watch a
honey badger
eat a cobra.

3am snapshot

This room is all there is.
The humid buggy stillness.
House fan rattling, sucking in the
sticky summer night.
Bare legs bonding
with the brown leather sofa.
Sweet Kahlua lingering
on my lower lip.

Detached

I've lost my Self again.
Everyone else is more real,
More actual
And I can't picture myself
At all.
I have to invent a me,
A new one
That's ill fitting.
This world that felt so full,
It's only full of Things.
And I'm one of them.
A Thing that moves amongst the herd.
Neurons randomly firing
Just trying to make sense of it
This stupid chaos.
Soul is an illusion
And these are only words.

Vigil

As the world sleeps
holds its breath
on pause, until who knows,
forever,
I will tap into
the heads of the sleeping
the minds of the dreaming
the heart of the oblivious
unlock memories from before birth
lying body-less under the stars
knowing. connected, still.
I return every night
keep my lantern lit
and wait.

Black/White

I'm all in
uncomfortably
exposed
longing for eyes
waiting for confirmation
convinced I'm not here
until accepted.

I'm closed
indifferent
unconvinced
willing to
leave the party
alone
because none of this
is real.

I'm all black or white
on or off
yes please
or
no thanks.

Inexpressable

Nothing neatly describes this
but maybe, nearly
the minor melancholy key
a quiet scene on film
lines from a lyric
a scent
a memory.
I save these clippings,
show them around,
even if they go unnoticed.
Somewhere
sometime
another human kept this
and found a way to express it.
I steal from those that have
felt the tragedy of a dream
with no ground in reality.
Nothing need come of it
but the feeling is shown
and digested, and
hopefully
shared.
I've transmitted in the bath
still, concentrating,
sent it with tears
through sleep
through breath
in untranslatable language.
I refuse to shrink down
clean and repackage
into letters and words.
I will project silently
haunt with raw emotion
across realms
through the dark.

Unintentional Eviction

There was a resident
In my head
For a year or more
I don't know
I don't know
But my tenant is gone
Or quiet
Either way
I can't tell if this makes me
Alone and hollow
Our just less crazy
But the withdrawal feels wrong
A calm ache in my soul
As convenient as this is
Much as I thought
This is what I needed
It's not right
And the tenant has moved on
To finer heads
I fear never to return
I'd take the storms and gut-wrench
The painful tingle in my heart
Anyday
Over this ordinary
Nothing.

Thoughts

After a peacetime
I'm always convinced it's done with.
There's a quiet of the mind.
Do and think the right things,
Life requires less effort.
The world shrinks to what can be seen
And nerves are dulled,
Emotional amnesia.
Push away, retreat, resign
Curl up and accept illusion.
It's all there is.

Southern Comfort and God Is An Astronaut

It is after midnight
and I am up drinking
alone
while the house sleeps
and I put on music
to try and force words from me
the right words
a way to capture all this
frustration and sadness
and confusion and melancholia.
Those are just words
they can't bottle any of it.
I can't help coming off sounding trite.
Oh, fuck. Screaming.
Lives move on and time continues to pass
but how could it when I'm still stuck.
Won't someone please
please
reach back and help me
I just can't keep up.
I'm so tired.

Tired

There is a resident in my head
A mirror reflecting what I need
Awake while I'm sleeping
Asleep when I'm waking
Comforting me
By existing
Communicating silently
Keeping my soul warm
When I'm
So cold.
Now it's
My turn to
Sleep.

my bulb burns out quickly

there's a light in the kitchen
in the ceiling fan
that takes these special bulbs
four of them
and one bulb always blows
shortly after being replaced.
it's in the same spot
every time
and i'm sure there's a good reason
for this
and maybe you're reading this
and you know
but i don't
and i'm too lazy to find out
but it shines so bright
for a short amount of time
and then one day
i'll turn it on and sadly
it doesn't all light up
and it casts a partial light
on the room below
and i don't want to be there
anymore
because the room just isn't the same
everything suddenly feels different
until i find a new bulb
and the cycle starts
again.

Dream landmark

I don't know if it's possible
Probably not
But I'm four drinks in
And a year or so lost, so
I'll let myself sink
Into dream
Concentrate and sleep
Convince my mind it's the only way
Wait at the north pole
I'll stay asleep forever
If I have to.

FUGGIT

this winter world seems so
gray and dirty and cold.
these people, man,
they all focus on THINGS
on buying on consuming
telling the same fucking jokes
over and fucking over
and I can't extract any Real
from anywhere.
I'm screaming, I'm fucking howling
no contact, no nothing
I will never get what I need
stuck in this same rut,
I NEED SOME FUCKING MEANING
is that too much?
it can't be that elusive,
have i just dug too far down?
I'll never be content in the shallow end.
goddammit.
why do I even bother anymore.
my heart/soul/whatever is alone.
i can't relate anymore.

new world

i've created a world
where night reigns supreme
where we can all be whole
because there exists no
obligations, guilt, distance
wires are gone from veins
only the sweet kind of pain
sleep never takes prisoners
and the air we breathe
is made of love.

mad

my brain is fragmenting
into a million beautiful
flaming pieces
and all anyone can see
is a false positive
or a blank space
where I used to be.
it's just too much
to take
as if i've stared too long
into the sun
i'm blind
i'm mad
it's so beautiful
but it hurts.

Searching

I am a vacant shell
I am on another world
Earbuds firmly planted
Head full of distortion
Whiskey taken hold
Dreams unfold
I can't be reached
By them
I'm finding the wavelength
Give me time
Until then I am
Nothing

Run down evening

The sounds are too much
The light is too bright
Rain ruins the snow
Reality ruins dreams
Absence ruins every hour
The evening is desperate
For drinks and solitude
Songs with feeling
Songs with words that speak for me.

Ninja

The words come too hard
So I just let the music
Translate for my heart

I am the master
Of revealing everything
Admitting nothing.

I miss me.

If I was let out in my form,
no not this one,
Mine.
I would walk down the dark corners of town alone
drunk
with a camera
I would wear boots and fishnets again
and smoke and smoke and smoke
be the girl I've always loved
and hid away
My hair would be so long
and I'd swing in the park alone
planning
plotting
breathing and living.
Creating worlds.
Destroying yours.
Rewind to an age when I had no time for fear.
I'd never stop to contemplate the contents of another's mind
never sweat the morning after
because I'll find my way
home
somehow.

Bottom

I'm alone
I don't know what the fuck
Is wrong with me
But I'm all alone with it
Because nobody cares
Because nobody wants to deal with me
I'm a pain
I'm useless and broken
Get help, they say
Just don't bother me with it
Talk to someone who is paid to listen
But they don't know me
They won't care, either.
I make everyone hate me
And I can't even help it
I don't know what I'm doing
This poem is horrible
All my poems are horrible.
But no one reads them
So I don't care
Fuck
Fuck
Fuck
I need a drink.

Fuck the holidays

I just can't do this anymore
Each noise
Every fucking thing
Pulls me down
The Christmas tree is still
In its box
It's a week into December
And I just don't care
Nothing
It's pointless
There's nothing to drink
No money
I don't want to think
I don't want to write
But, fuck it all, I'm doing it anyway.
Rudolph is on
I don't give a fuck
About his goddam nose.
And fuck Sam the Snowman, too.
Why is it all so shallow
Why am I so nothing and angry.
I can't tell whether my soul is sick
Or I've realized there is no soul
That we're only pointless chunks of meat
Walking around consuming
And destroying
Until we die.

A wrongness

I'm the butt of their jokes
I tell myself
As I lie on my back
In bed
Tears rolling into my ears.
Every one of my words
I analyze
Turn over and over and over,
Understanding my
Obvious idiocy
Too late.
My mind
My thoughts and my
Inside world
These things never convey properly
And I'm terrified to even
Open my mouth sometimes
For fear of showing my
Wrongness.

Stuff

Superficial
comfort
enough space
convenience
stuff
That's all this shit is
it's stuff
Lovely to the eye
repulsive to the soul
Knocking into all these
Things
In my way
In my way
But you wanted me
They all cry
We could have been
Your freedom
They all plead
It's good backdrop
For the imaginary
For drunken mind movies
But really
None of it's
Real.

What is
real
Sideways glances
Bare feet
Raw soul
Shivers
Buried truth
Lovely mystery
Tragic injustice
And coincidence
Each worth more
Than any if this
Stuff/Shit.

Maybe Tomorrow

It's only me
Again
Drinking to silence
Wondering who is real
Who is paper.
Pin point thoughts
Burn so bright
so small
Build such intensity
A crescendo
Until I'm exhausted.
I can't keep up this high.
I keep bouncing
The same question
Out into space
With no return.
I'm getting
Tired.
Maybe
Tomorrow.

The Roy Force

I try at
a telepathic
and ultimately
miserable
force.

I can make it
so
much
easier.

I know I can
but I don't.
I project
and I wait.
Project
and wait.

I know it can't work
but I still hope.
Still try.

I want those
elements of my
imagination
to be real.

When all I really
need
is a spine.

Dream Thief

Either
Reality
Is beginning
To steal
From my
dreams
Or
I'm about
To wake
Up.

Quit fucking with me
Morpheus.

Over.

So what do I care?
Huh?
It's been awhile
and my senses
have evolved.
I get into a spot
though
once in a while.
Some drinks and such
put me in a
state.
Yeah.
I wonder things.
Questions form like bile
in the back of my throat.
Doubt hangs around
until I'm
over it.
Who cares?
Who fucking cares
now
but my
liquor
soaked
brain
?

runs in the family

it's an awkward corner
we're turned around in
when things are left bare

glaring ugly
uncomfortable
and plain

I never wanted to enter
their sick contest.

I've worn the same scars,
inherited it all but
buried underneath them
insignificant

I hate asking for help
that I don't
want

there's words and whiskey
and dreams of other realities
other worlds filled with
lovely ghosts
that they want to erase
with pills

I'm afraid of losing
the beauty
along with the
pain.
And I'm not entirely
sure

that they're not
the same
thing.

A Little Crazy

It's cold and late
and my imagined everything
has become quietly hostile.
As if my pretend friends
have all left me
to talk behind my back.
And maybe none of you
are real.
Maybe this is all me.
All a bad dream.
If I fold in on myself,
hide,
this world will stop
confusing me and
leave me the hell
alone.
I know I'm all wrong.
I don't need to wonder
who else knows.

daydream delusions

it's hopeless, this.
the air is failing,
I'm tucked inside and
suffocating within lost things
imagined things
there's such a crowd of ghosts
in my head
they're people who were never people
apparitions, actors,
wearing familiar masks,
playing out dark scenarios
with quiet thirst.

my brain is conducting
a parade of beautiful shit.
it pays no mind to what's real
or expected or even possible.
what the dream desires
the waking mind fabricates.
what the nightmare fears
the waking mind produces.
fuck you, waking mind.