Last Impressions.

When I first observed your shifty ways,
I glimpsed a foggy, underlying haze;
What is essential remained forever vague,
What was potential went black as plague;
Always heard it within your loud tendencies,
Your repeatedly blatant discrepancies,
Big stories, loud T-shirts and MP3s,
Oozing broken deficiencies,
Your endless supply of one-liner quips,
The total lack of any intact etiquette,
Your falsified versions of all kinds of shit,
How I wish that I never heard any of it;
Because now it’s a puzzle that boggles my brain,
How I bought such a lie sold by the insane,
I cringe at the close shave of taking that name,
From a dirty player playing in a filthy game;
With your perpetual spouting of little known facts,
The effectual role-play of good and kind acts,
A contextual manipulation that deviates from fact,
A perpetual accumulation of memories you’ve hacked
There was a gnawing feeling that I ignored,
Put to the side of who I thought I adored,
I forfeit a wager that I couldn’t afford,
I stupidly missed the big, bold underscore;
Despite your perceptions and points of view,
Your recollections are historically skewed,
With so many imperfections ever seeping through,
I should have spotted early on: the ugliness in you;
It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself to justify,
The bigger picture painted is a tainted, ugly lie,
The glory fizzled out then shriveled up and died,
Left it on the curb with your sulfuric sense of pride.
But you made it so simpler to strap up my boots,
To finally stamp out embers and sweep out the soot,
I won’t remember much of some thieving crook,
Or the irreplaceable piece of equipment he took.

Aftertaste.

Here it is:

 

The truth is never kind, remember?

What’s kind is rarely true.

You taught me that.

It was a lesson that actually sunk in, too.

Now it’s part of me.

So I guess you are too.

But, just not in a good way.

I was very upset for like a half hour this morning; after tasting the semi-familiar flavor of your words and how you use them.

I used to be so impressed by your wordsmithing; you know it’s true.

Today’s flavor, however, left a wretched, bitter aftertaste in my mouth.

After actually looking at your face again for the first time in over a year, it’s strange to me.

The vague and foreign-feeling man I see is a stranger.

There’s no stirring in my guts of those long gone butterflies.

There’s no emotional spark up my spine.

A smile no longer reflexively cracks across my face upon seeing yours.

Today, I realized I’ve really made a big mistake.

I was always in my own right to hate you – who you are.

Lately, the way I have been feeling so confusedly heartbroken over you again like it’s a fresh slight.

It’s like I stepped out of a time machine and am lagging in past circumstances while the rest of the world has gone on without me.

So I went back over things associated with the period of time from which I dissociated and checked out – specifically, things attached to you and me.

I learned that my alter ego dealt with you swiftly and coolly, as was only appropriate at the time.

Given how I had somehow managed to completely block out all the low-blows and cold-hearted actions on your part during that time-frame (not to mention all the venomous things you spewed at me non-stop while my Mom was newly diagnosed and dying), it’s a miracle I ever began to tolerate your presence in the Universe again at all, in any context.

I look in my settings on different websites to find your username and old IP Address on the blacklists everywhere.

Upon re-familiarizing myself with the sticky cobwebs, ghostly threats and promises of it all (and I do mean ALL of it), my mind became better able to recall the better portion of everything:

√ My desperation to shake you off my leg,

√ My feelings of suffocation and my anxious state of mind,

√ My fear of the overwhelming weight of it all,

√ Your incessant neediness and misdirected anger,

It was not “love”…it was not “love” at all…

It was just another missing chunk of time from my life that some buzzing sound in the back of my head tries to embed as having been “love”, historically.

Because, my brain needs to feel as if it has been “loved”, known “love”…actually felt “love” somewhere in those missing chunks of time, by someone.

It didn’t have to be you.

If it wasn’t you, it’d been the next guy down the line.

So it’s true: You are nothing special and neither am I.

WE are nothing and never were and I see that now and agree with you.

Kidding ourselves…

Not cut out to take a stroll through a park together.

Doomed from the gate.

Aye.

 

Face of Mendacity.

Yes it has, and admittedly;

Come to pass unpredictably,

The blades of grass are far from green,

No matter how fast I rearrange things.

In a palsied flash I see everything,

I cry and I laugh at what it all means,

Hope gets smashed to smithereens,

a high-speed crash into humanity.

A skinned carcass hung out and withering,

A trophy the hunter left disintegrating,

A nothing that no one can recall clearly,

Something hung in the sun to spin limply .

Yes it does, and quite totally;

blows my mind dumbfoundedly,

spends my time confoundedly,

by stinging my eyes perpetually.

But the tears I produce don’t mean anything,

just another excuse to curse the deities,

my tongue’s gotten loose and lashed back at me,

for speaking the truth in the face of mendacity.

Go On.

Scratch every single thing
That ever held meaning
Swipe away the empty words
All Ive said and all Ive heard
Make it rain with truthfulness
Wash the stain of uselessness
I dont need the toxic lies
The well concealed goodbyes
Its all a joke told cruelly
Behind the trusting back of me
Just go on and get in line
And take your place in kind
Youre all the sorry same
Point fingers and place blame
In the face of reality
Incapable of solidity
Its like a giant oozing wound
Stitches opened far too soon
Im alone in the responsibility
Of letting mutants close to me
Days and nights between
The lies fed forcefully
I vomit each and every breath
Until nothingness is all thats left
Go on.
Go live your life.

Most Hated of Them All.

I hate her.
I hate the way her face displays,
all the things she hides from me;
I hate every breath that she takes.
I curse her smiles;
I make it rain all over her parades,
I saturate her blankets,
and every clothesline that she hangs.
I feel sick;
every time her victory banner is waved,
those with hearts as dark as hers,
do not deserve such good days.
I cast catching nets;
to halt the successes she’s made,
all the good she’s accomplished;
from within a questionable Human state.
I hunt her;
track marks in the mud from her chains,
her pace has picked up now,
but her attempts to escape are in vain.
I watch her;
watch each line appear in her face,
along the tip-toes of the crow’s feet,
so I step away from the mirror again.

Walk, Talk and Breathe.

Friends that refuse to respect of me,
the smallest of ways that I ask to be,
excused from their own stupidity,
yet – they choose to abuse,
and they find these things funny…
A family turned to the judge and jury,
no hand extended in my times of need,
the after-burn of that first, initial sting,
the day I noticed they were on an opposing team…
Others play the friendly role all too regularly,
to the point it’s obvious there’s no true identity,
behind any of the faces in the places close to me,
just life-sized puppets that walk, talk and breathe…

Bent.

I am the face blended in on the train –
with open wounds bleeding blame and shame –
I am the darkness that protects the light –
blinded by a goal in sight –
I am the reasons why I hate myself –
just me to blame and nobody else –
I am the hatred in the moments alone –
when the place is quiet and nobody’s home –
I am the purpose that drives so many vessels on fire –
I am the face of the weary and tired–
I am not satisfied with the way things have become –
I am not going to accept what you’ve done –
I am the one who meant each word I said –
I am the one that you lied to instead –
I am the one who is sullen and down –
I am the reason none of my friends come around –
I am the cause of all things tragic –
I can make people disappear from my Life like Magic – 
I am the cultivator of this poisonous place –
I am afraid of my own body and face –
I cannot tell which creatures won’t bite –
I will eventually resign to this fight –
I am convinced that I’m better off without –
I am aware of what they’re all talking about –
I am the one who tied the original knot –
I guess that that’s a detail that each one forgot –
I am not filled with any cold from the snow–
I have mastered that defense system, you know –
I am a human fucking being –
I have a heart that pumps and bleeds –
I am not interested in dramatics and games –
be decent to me, and I’ll treat you the same.

Sinking Me.

Have you ever felt its slice? …
Never seen the flash of light? …
Weren’t you there –?
a winding road up –
to absolutely nowhere…
indulge me with your disguise;
who is to say
stupid or wise? –
I’d made up my weary mind,
treading circles in square boxes
has been suiting you just fine;
I got up off my knees,
walked away
no goodbye –
I haven’t the energy, or time;
My darling, it’s gotten old,
tired and spent
like a tooth filled with gold;
soft enough to give with force,
and allow its form to shape new mold,
but too hardened at the edges,
scarred deeply
by tragedy –
carved in her skin in big bold;
the slice that you refuse to see,
the load you aren’t willing to pull
in turn with me,
You’re sinking me.

Be.

I asked only ever to be loved honorably,
I don’t want to be resurrected,
dragged under each armpit from the trenches,
No, I just want to sleep,
just a thoughtful mind to be alongside of,
in a body of armored weaponry,
to spoon me while I dream,
to prove I can believe in some kind of silver lining,
believe in something,
I don’t want to be spoiled,
or bought and paid for,
I can pack a lunch and keep my own gun clean,
I don’t need a Daddy,
I want someone to listen,
when I am not even speaking,
someone who will love the good and bad,
there’s plenty of both in me.
to only somehow make it a reality,
to simply be able to just “be”.

Deep Blue.

It’s as if a snake,
has slithered its way,
down my esophagus today,

a darkening haze,
spills over my scene,
making static in my periphery,

the noise it makes,
sucking down the drain,
until it’s just an empty bathtub again,

genetically hungry,
a deep desire for your cake,
my tears fill the moments and my belly aches,

bleeding your name,
screaming final resignation,
begging for the warmth of your heavy domination,

body in detached withdrawal,
my heart’s never been this broken before,
and it won’t get better til you come back for more,

nothing else much matters to me,
as trivial as a granule of sand on the beach,
the world stops spinning when you step out of reach,

but, you know these things,
how I only dive this deep into blue,
on the days that follow a night spent with you.

Envenomed.

I see it slithering its way to the spot where I stand,

from a distance, with persistence it knows where I am;

 

I know it’s after any remaining peace of mind,

a new disaster if I fall for its lullaby this time;

 

it has this way of coiling tightly about my feet,

ratcheting and squeezing the life out of me;

 

it whispers the things I dream someone might say,

it tickles the most secret parts of my brain;

 

I see it slithering its way back onto my scene,

from whence I sent it packing for behaving cruelly;

 

trying to maneuver a snake-like body in ways,

that go by unnoticed, without causing any waves;

 

I keep trying to run but I can’t claim any real ground,

like a clown-house with warped mirrored walls all around;

 

like the jingling of bells – that sweet tinkling noise,

the rushing of wind and the river’s raging voice;

 

I see it slithering through sand, grass and snow,

it’s on my heels wherever I think to cleverly go;

 

I don’t want it near me, to touch me or hear me,

this snake they call “Love” lives too venomously.

What Else?

I think you nailed it without meaning to,

how you said you lived somewhere arctic,

and that I would absolutely hate it there…

…what else?…

I think you spilled the truth over the brim,

how you put the blame on my poetry,

for inspiring your meaningless expressions…

…what else?…

I think you must have known from the beginning,

how you singled me out with your destruction,

because I seem so strong and hard to break…

…what else?…

I think it was a drill that you run regularly,

how the floodgates opened and flooded the course,

with a new mental illness and old childhood issues…

…what else?…

I think you must feel happy with yourself,

for being a weak wolf in a hokey sheep costume,

at least, I hope you are.

 

 

Bad Seed.

What were you expecting
by reaching out to me?
a disapproving stranger
without any sympathy;

I have nothing left to give you
you’ve stripped my being clean
Put that red hand back in your pocket
when you’re in my vicinity;

Your struggles and your sadness
are not lost on what I perceive
The creature you’ve turned into
was somehow born to me;

Yet, in spite of such genetics
you remain a foreign entity
I may be your mother
but my daughter is deceased;

People blame and name me
pass judgment cruelly
And perhaps, I am a failure
I don’t deny these things;

Whatever I stand up for
in the end of such tragedy
I will not be standing
for what you’ve grown up to be.

The Empath and The Opportunist – Continued.

He is carrying on about the business; about profit and loss…I am sitting here across the table from him, wondering why the Hell I even have anything, much less such a co-dependent kinda thing, with this fucking guy of all people.

His father just died, after a long and trying illness, he is sad and needy right now; yet, he only wants to talk business, as usual. Whatever dude…let me print out a P & L and we will comb the fucking books then, fine with me.

Men are so puzzling this way: so likened to a fucking light switch when it comes to using the experiences we have in life as a means of enriching our relationships with each other. They don’t know how to approach it, they just kill the whole operation; they can’t figure it out, they just tune it out; they can’t accurately compartmentalize it, they simply pretend it isn’t there.

Men seem just as happy (or so they like to believe) with stuffing it all down until they are no longer capable of stuffing. And then: Ka-Boom. Right?

This particular man has the capacity to say the right things and do them too, when it might suit his fancy for whatever reasons…but, those times hardly ever overlap with my own times of receptiveness these days, after all that’s passed between us. He has that shit-eating smile that can stop traffic from across the street; but he also happens to be one of the very last people I would ever lean on for any reason – as I have learned the lesson in his case that I will fall the fuck over, should I lean even the slightest bit on him. He always said he loved me because I am “built with so much substance” and am “so deep of a person”, and the reason he thinks he “loves” this about me is because he lacks these things completely. He sings such horseshit as “stability” and “security” (please note: he straight the fuck up tossed me like last week’s milk like two years ago and badly broke my heart), while sporting me on an arm that he can detach from his shoulder at any time via some hidden release mechanism. I am honest with him about how I can’t and never could again – trust him on the levels that matter (to me, at least)…he seems to care less. I don’t sleep with him any more either, and haven’t for almost two years, so he knows that I’m not just talking shit. Whatever, let’s file a tax voucher instead.

Pushing Buttons.

What…?
You honestly thought,
that my DNA forgot,
the dealer of
such a lethal drug?
When you’ve
got me tethered,
weathered and wrought;
and you’ve
got me pleasured,
treasure the thought;
What…?
say you didn’t mean,
to imply anything,
through the carelessness,
of your pretentiousness,
When you’ve
got me all twisted,
insistent on foolishness;
and you’ve
still persisted,
pushing buttons like this.