...Off By Heart

It's nine o' clock and I am severely unable to drive...a fifth of rum and I'm a goner...whatever, I ate an orange.  When I was a kid, more of a kid than current state of mind dictates, I would subject myself to a few belts of whatever mummers had in the cupboard(sorry, now you know) and consequently 'belt' out a song or two on her awesome stereo system.  Being the product of an artist/musical connoisseur, one develops tendencies in this manner/matter.  I remember distinctly that first time this happened:

Sixteen...typical situation of adults and sibling away for the weekend.  I break up with my first boyfriend/first boy kissed in my short existence and regret it...age old and understood by all, I realize.  I helped myself to various alcohol stored in our cupboard above the glassware...rum, vodka, cognac, something in a purple bottle.  I really went to town.  Second time only ever partaking in the pastime of the drink, as my first experience yielded mixed results:  Two beer and vomitous maximus. 

So, blaring Silverchair and screaming every word at the top of my lungs, I proceeded to drink random liquor til the projectile puke came followed fast by sweat soaked sleep.  It     was      awesome.  The longing, the regret, the passion!  I have not felt that way in, oh, a few years since and here I am.  I am back, or never really left and just hid it rather well from the world.  No, this is new, again.  I am new again.  I lie on my carpeted floor, music at reasonable decibels only cuz I'm not a fucking asshole and respect my neighbors, drunk, covered in citric acid and singing like a maniac.  Did I mention it was nine pm?  Yeah, perhaps my staying power ain't what it was...that's okay, I can live with that. 

I am a teenager once more...less acne and debilitating self loathing, but a teen nonetheless.  I feel renewed.  Alive.  Desperately sad.  Honest.  That last one is the rum talking.  I haven't been here in some time and it is wonderful.  I hope it's real.    

Toxicity

"It Stinks," she says to herself, "Your poisoned breath," plugging her ears.

It's difficult to admit for her sometimes that she exists like all others: lonely and disillusioned with security.  He says things that make her want to escape.  Where to I wonder?  Running only wearies the soul and little else.  Escapes at hand for the travelling man but not much else.  She could live without him, she could do without.  His poisonous air hit chords she never knew existed.  Should she show gratitude and sustain her self worth with mindless mantras of past predictors?  Perhaps evolution passes in such smaller increments for her that a difference won't be felt til the end of days...the end of life as she knows it now.  Faith in others was never suppose to be.  They will forever disappoint, forever take without consent and forget you when you're done.  His foul spewings are often not thought through and she questions why?  Your bowels force this putrid, dank air from the place where hurt resides.  It lives there don't you know...breeding, feeding and depositing its impurities for his brain to grasp and dispel.  She thinks before she speaks.  She plays all of it over in her head at untold velocities to keep him safe and sound.  She keeps him sound for her sake as well and ponders why he chooses not.  He chooses.  He makes the choice to force the fictitious nonsense that somehow still pains her so.  Her fault I suppose.  She chooses to be pained.  He doesn't know...it's the fault of ignorance, not his own.  I have tears and bleary eyes for her.  I've been there and I can only console her with one thing...talk to yourself, for there is no one else who needs to know.

Killing Time

My life it fades
away from me;
Running its course
without consent.
The smoke...
she breathes me in
without remorse,
regard, dissent.
It's not a lack
that keeps me
wanting...time
itself.
Regret harvests time
before its due,
and nothing can be done
to save him. 
Wanting more is not
the case, rather wanting
now to last a day.
A day! you say,
is nothing missed
lo when it's lost,
tragic remiss.

"I can see the city in your sunglasses."

I couldn't feel the cold today though my toes screamed their dissent from below.  I walked our path of destruction completely unaware that, that was my journey of choice.  I've confused you with a dream, I believe;  One in which happy endings prevail and the soul is fed its gruel.  Fairness plays no role when you've vanished into rainy days and waves of green.  I feel as though I've suckled at the breast of enlightened interdependence, glimpsed reality in all its impressionable euphoria and lost it all in a single whisper of a breath of a moment.  Now to reconcile my loss with the current state of mind, it is put upon me to find solace in meat and drink.  These empty and evil desires...merely a distraction from the heart of truth I find wrapped in your arms.  Would lack of distance keep us apart?  Would we have strength enough to stomach the other?  I fear the response to this pondering, yet i disclose that those little natterings of insecurity are submitting to substantiated evidence.  I long for your sweet departure time and time again for I know your return brings forth thoughts I had let fade and fall to their demise.  They've found me though...renewed and prepared for the steep ascent.  I am ever so grateful for their return for I was awash in a stagnant pool too deep for light or love.  So, now I linger, anticipating your touch on the part of me that was somehow always yours.

Just a Girl

I am a putrid pile of lady parts painfully arranged into a pleasing pose for all others to gaze upon.  I should be grateful for at least that;  For at the very least I have a fraction of what it takes to make it in this cesspool of liars and impostors.  Never mind the intentions, golden roads were once paved with their debris and now they are trampled and tarnished to such degrees.  I went a time not looking at reflections of my shell.  I shrugged it off as being liberated from the self that others want but in reality, (where i live now), it was because of how much i hate the sight.  I am trumped by insecurity, fueled by jealousy,  and spurred by hate.  I am adrift in a tempestuous assault daily which i create and perpetuate all by my lonesome.  I get so excruciating lost in this loneliness that I drown in tear drenched pillows and salt stained t-shirts.  I exaggerate to entertain and feast on the good will of others.  I attack without warning, leave without hesitation and shut out the world whenever I can.  I long for a love that seems so unreal and refuse acceptance once granted for only I know the truth.  I am a seeker of sadness and find solace in anguish.  I am a wretched creature who needs and takes it without consent.  I will wither and shuffle off the coil in the fading candle light however, and there you will see it - the one thing that keeps you silent and holds you still.  This moment when you realize....................she's just a girl.

Right Tight

I know, I know...there's a bluebird in my chest Bukowski, I know.  I fear to let him out for when I do, he screams and shouts.  His havoc reaps blisters that heal not quite right and I, ensnared by his charms, left much the same.  When he returns from his travels abroad, he's colder, harder, with a crazed look in the light of his eyes.  He doesn't want to go back for he's lived fully for a time and my insides are no place for something so delicate.  He abides only out of obligation and a strange sense of attachment that could only resemble the love I've fed him.  He's had troubles out there.  Nothing compared to what is expected of him in here and yet he often returns in no passing at all.  My bluebird friend returns...always a little hurt I think that I ever so willingly embrace him and drain his juices once more.  Precarious our relationship, yet the most stable thing I've ever known.  Misery loves company...and bluebirds, incidentally.  I really do my best to listen to his version of the world....it always seems so saturated in whimsy and reverence.  I ask him questions(as if I don't already know), and he responds how I knew he would...transitory trial passed.  I am always validated by my winged friend...he never disappoints and always returns.  He rights my rights and soothes the turbulence I so enjoy to spread and share and suffer in.  One day i will suffocate him in my chest where my heart once beat and he'll know why...oh yes...only he will know why. 

Bill Pullman

It is truly remarkable to me how a few words of nonsense can bear so much weight.  Not the kind of weight that holds you back or carries you beneath the surface of oxygen and sunshine...but the kind that permeates your very being and gives life meaning.  sigh.  I hate this feeling.  The, "I am liberated and elated yet absolutely miserable"...one.  I could take flight and simultaneously sink to the very bottom of existence...lost there amongst the darkness and Sun fish.  I long, like no other...desperate for contact yet terrified of the repercussions.  Terrified.  Terror rules movement of mine at every juncture...what a joke I am.  I preach spontaneity, connectivity and meaning yet I refuse to emancipate myself from the bonds of fear and admittance.  Suffocating surely with the concealed creatures of the deep, I strain and squirm emitting fraudulence and frailty...I want to be one...with you.  I ask a lot and expect it all...anything else is every failure I've ever participated in.  Anxious over outcomes and occurrences, I push and pull then push again...how much can my fellow sea life take until a mass exodus erupts on my behalf and I yearn alone once more?  Perhaps the river is where i belong.  Moving currents of change and inconsistency.  Insecurities dissipate, love endures and longing lost to the flow.  The river brings me home regardless, thusly warped from experience.  I wish i had the words...ALL OF THEM.  I would give them to you upon kisses and unfettered fright.  We'll thrash about, only the other to maintain equilibrium until it makes sense in evolutionary degrees.  One monster of the deep grotesquely entwined, satiated...walls burnt to dust debris.