A Lot Of Dreaming

Something is very wrong.
In my mind thoughts are clear
And lucidly float behind my eyes.
I can feel soft words,
Some of them for you,
Dangling from my fingertips,
Hiding in the drowned spaces
between my glistening teeth.

But up close this mirror
Is muddied and scratched
With fingernail marks and
Something closely resembling
My very own brand
Of unsettling bullshit.
My tongue drips sour,
The saliva frothing and bursting
And steadily becoming
More embittered and lonesome.
Suddenly there are things
That I can no longer impart,
Not nearly so readily at least.

These problems course
Through my arteries and veins,
Through the skin on the
Back of my hands,
Along the bloodlines
That feed my brain,
My arrow-filled mind.

They lead me to believe
That some creatures were designed
To break with natures bonds.
And perhaps we will always blame others
For what we refuse to believe.
Or hate ourselves
For what we know to be true.

What Might Have Been Love

On the last train home,
My ears buzzing and my eyes blurring.
I am tossed about and between
The broken overhead lights and
The infrequent tunnel lights out the windows
I am turned as waves of alternately
Yellow and grey and green wash over me
And I am suddenly struck by the realisation
That I should never have let you go.

Keep A Grip

If I went blind tonight
and lost all sense of sound’s delight
I fear that I could remember
the colour of a summer sky
as the sun drops over the horizon
and the gently sobs
of a woken child
in the room next door
would linger in my mind.

But how could I hold onto
the sound of our happiness?
How long before I lost
the soft colours of our love?

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.