Mark.

I have a creeping guilt.

So lucid and empty,
I roll my eyes and snort
and scowl effervescent.
Pain deep pitted in my stomach.

I haven’t been there when he’s
needed me
I’ve left him alone
as his eyes grow a deeper and deeper red.

I’ve been blind to sorrow
and love
but not to distaste.

No, not to distaste.

There was no quenching in the rain.

You never said it but you knew
we were wrecking like trains.
Flying along those tracks at
breakneck speeds. Too eager.

And for a little while at least
it looked like we were getting pretty close.
Little did we expect this rending of metal,
this tearing and splintering
of flesh and heart and hard white bone laid bare
like the most delicate tinderbox.

The fire was the slowest burning I’ve ever seen,
this train wreck of us.

Like a busted mirror. I’m having trouble seeing myself.

This is so much more difficult to do
than I thought it would be.
But then again,
I never thought, did I?
I just ‘did’.

All these blotted tail-lights,
all these red, watering eyes,
each one a person (dead and) gone.

Sometimes you’re dead to me
and other times you are so alive I have to clench
my eyes
my fists
my self
for fear I’d loose it all. Blurt it out.

This is something that needs thought,
but I’m in no condition to.

You’re nothing that will easily lie down.

Holding out.

It’s a dark cloud over my head.
It’s something I can’t fix
and it’s coming down like a ton of bricks
on me,

this realisation.

Someday.
Someday soon
they’re going to find me
dead on your doorstep.

My body all crumpled and broken
in this old grey woolen suit.
My hand on the handle.
My heart in my mouth.

I listened to a river red.

What did she do?
She was honest
She said she was sorry and that she loved me
but not in that way.
That’s all

And I can’t feel bad
because
it’s true.
And I can’t feel bad
because
that makes me feel
bad.

As I’ve said before
the unimportance of it is killing me.

Things mean too much too me.
I feel too much

It is not a bad thing to feel very passionate?
Oh it is.
It is bad for me.
It makes me hurt
and it blinds me to the most obvious loves.

What did I say in return?

I said
okay.
I said
I see.
I said.

I didn’t say
I didn’t mean that smile.

about the weight.

it’s hard and slick and black.

and it
weighs weighs weighs.

the weight sits, lodged in the heart of my chest.
malice.
it is sharp sided and pricks the muscle and tissue around it.
it will not let itself be forgotten.

machines will not move it.
people can not talk it up nor down.
like the castle of christ, it “shall not be moved”.

it is a weight.
and i feel it.
deep.

and it
weighs weighs weighs.

on me.

self-confessional.

there are certain things
which need not be thought,
by man.
by woman.
by you.
by me.

and yet,
these weigh heavily on our minds.

these things can’t be thrown.
they are sticky like sap.
they hurt.
like a sickness.
in my stomach i can feel the swaying and frothing.
unpleasant.

it’s vile.
if douglas adams, god resty his soul, were to have made a word,
i would use.
alas, i am, as of yet, unread.
if i should read, i will provide.

relief comes with talk.
however, how often too does distain
and self hatred/disgust.
it depends upon the person.
the persons to and from.
find the right person(s).

i may have found the right person(s).

and now, this too, is too much.

Time to.

I was.

I am.

I will.

3 states. Each with its own rules and agendas and ‘lois de terre’.

The Past is stubborn and stuck in her ways; doing the Tories proud.
But it is reassuring.
What is, is.
You can count on “I was”.

Present is ever changing.
Its citizens live.
It is a time and place of action and of getting done.
Highly productive, highly destructive is “I am”

The Future is a highly unstable kindom,
ruled by a faceless king.
Mathematics holds no place: it cannot be counted on.
It is for the ignorant and the devine.
A land of hopes and dreams.
Not metallic and tarnished as those in “I was” might think,
“I will” is either frayed or filled.
“I will” is what you make.
So easily “I will not”.

Calary.

Our hot breath spirals away
into the air;
free.

My collar is up against this wind,
against this cold,
against this softness of heart.

No one shall see me cry.
It is not yet dark enough.

Drowned. I am greatly moved.

You stood in the light
and I couldn’t see.
I couldn’t speak.
I could barely breath.

Everything is thrown up,
and lands at such angles.
I can’t even begin.

I am on the verge of tears.
Great, fluid globules of myself slung against the ground.
Great lakes from great pains.

You say you are cold.
I am cold. I am cold within.

Why should you care?

I’ll sit out here
with the puddles of myself
until I no longer feel cold.
Until I no longer feel like myself.
Until I’m someone I can care about.