Came and Gone.

Her back knows the door all too well.

“I needed you to be real.” She says
<absently>

“I’ll have to write down all the ways you’ve betrayed me;
my memory doesn’t work so well, especially when I am caught up.. ”

She’s thinking…
(a decisive stare)

“How can you look yourself in the mirror?…lying like you do;
I don’t need this shit right now
I shouldn’t be here!”

He asks…
<matter-of-factly>

“Does the rain bleed sideways always?  Or does it come in sporadic torrents spurting out
covering everything like a permanent stain?”

His self-absorption is tangible; he continues…
(A hollow stare)

“I knew where you were the whole time, but to be honest, I couldn’t wait, I had things to do – with or without you…”

He stops speaking
<ponderously>
Then he adds
“I’m a hollow man, what can I say?”

She ignores that and says
(solemnly)

“I don’t sleep so well
insomnia from hell, really.
She gets her claws into me
so that I trance the rage.
Over and over and over and
over again it’s almost comical”

Bemused he says:

“But it’s more than just caffeine
you need on most days right?
I see you in paintings everyday
you are always so resigned in your poses. You can either look like something isvcoming around the corner at youvor you can look like you have beheld the Gods…although none of that matters, you’re dust in the wind to me.”

“Easy for you to say,”

She sobs
(endearingly)

“I think I’ll die now. I can’t
remember all these details.
My memory can play tricks on me sometimes I feel like I’m an actress in my very own horror flick. I watch the scenes go by indifferently perhaps if I got the cobwebs out I’d be able to see things more clearly;
find the pause button, you know?
I never did dye my hair…”

she says wistfully
(her repose that of an abandoned orphan)

He laughs inside.
He says
(insincerely)

“I love your hair just the way it is”

then he says
(Wickedly)

“Although, I must say, blue would really bring out your intense sadness;
he wonders…
“will she believe my horseshit? If she’s gullible enough, shall I tell her I will be betwixt and between? Within and
without always just a touch away until she works through her shit? Should I take the leap and claim that I will be around ‘permanently’?”

She smirks
(jadedly)

“The world is ending as you speak. You know, usually
I play those same tapes,
over and over and over….
well, you get the idea.”

then she says
(rather adroitly)
“…you know I simply spend a fuckload of time just trying to
get back to square one whatever
square one is is.”

He replies
<dramatically>

“Well square-fucking-one certainly
doesn’t fit your puzzle, does it?”

He leans in
(purposefully)

“I mean, all the truths have
transformed, they are so harsh, that they’re hard not to recognize.”

He leans away
<permanently>

“Are they not?”
He sniffs
<pompously>

I must say you adapt quite well.”

She laughs
<bitterly>

“Shit, dude, I have to give you credit for your perseverance in haunting my life, miserable as it is…you get the gold star award ⭐ for shallowness and cruelty. You think you’re so high and mighty but you’re closer and closer to being nothing at all in my heart or mind…”
She shakes her head
<wearily>

Christ is it time already?

“I gotta get outta here. This is not the best place on most days.
It clouds my judgment.
It needs replacing,
This place, it’s cracked and warping.”

He rises
(instinctively)

“Thanks for stopping in.  I’ll
make sure I have you so pumped full of hatred next time you come and go.
I found the machismo inside of myself to assure that you will quite vividly recall, by my insolently reminding you through my soulless actions, the poking of your bear by a legend such as myself. God you’re lucky to have known me in your life, you have no clue how awesome I am. Will you do me a huge favor?”

He asks
(Childishly)

“Sure”
she says, rising
(Hatred imperceptible)

He puts his dog’s hands on her small frame;
looking at her
<dolefully>

He whispers
<emptily>

“Just remember I meant none of it when I said ‘come and go’
as you please” when I said that you can use my place whenever you need it…
I know you’ll be sure to keep holding on to this promise all your days in utter vain. You happen to be quite masterful at that.  And don’t worry,
I will continue to keep an eye out you know, for you.”

She smiles tightly
(so anxious)

Glances a chop to his croaky throat turns and says
almost as an afterthought

“Aye, I know. I’m always taking stock, sorting
inventory, cleaning the messes up. I got your “come and go”right here!”

She makes a hip pumping motion that translates into sex.
<Angrily. Passionately>

“But you know where it is.”
She shakes her again as she permanently exits this place, his life.
<sadly>

As the door closes behind her

He thinks,
(Comfortably)

“Not really. But I am lying,
I am lying.”

Her back knows the door all too well.

“I needed you to be real.” She says
<absently>

“I’ll have to write down all the ways you’ve betrayed me;
my memory doesn’t work so well, especially when I am caught up.. ”

She’s thinking…
(a decisive stare)

“How can you look yourself in the mirror?…lying like you did;
I don’t need this shit right now
I shouldn’t be here!”

He asks…
<matter-of-factly>

“Does the rain bleed sideways always?  Or does it come in sporadic torrents spurting out
covering everything like a permanent stain?”

His self-absorption is tangible; he continues…
(A hollow stare)

“I knew where you were the whole time, but to be honest, I couldn’t wait, I had things to do – with or without you…”

He stops speaking
<ponderously>
Then he adds
“I’m a hollow man, what can I say?”

She ignores that and says
(solemnly)

“I don’t sleep so well
insomnia from hell, really.
She gets her claws into me
so that I trance the rage.
Over and over and over and
over again it’s almost comical.  I can’t wait until the coffee is so strong that it sends her into a tailspin for once.  Just once…”

Bemused he says:

“But it’s more than just caffeine
you need on most days right?
I see you in paintings everyday
you are always so resigned in your poses. You can either look like something isvcoming around the corner at youvor you can look like you have beheld the Gods…although none of that matters, you’re dust in the wind to me.”

“Easy for you to say,”

She sobs
(endearingly)

“I think I’ll die now. I can’t
remember all these details.
My memory can play tricks on me sometimes I feel like I’m an actress in my very own horror flick. I watch the scenes go by indifferently perhaps if I got the cobwebs out I’d be able to see things more clearly;
find the pause button, you know?
I never did dye my hair…”

she says wistfully
(her repose that of an abandoned orphan)

He laughs inside.
He says
(insincerely)

“I love your hair just the way it is”

then he says
(Wickedly)

“Although, I must say, blue would really bring out your intense sadness;
he wonders…
“will she believe my horseshit? If she’s gullible enough, will you tell her I will be betwixt and between? Within and
without always just a touch away until she works through her shit? I will be around permanently.”

She smirks
(jadedly)

“The world is ending as you speak. You know, usually
she plays those same tapes,
over and over and over….
well, you get the idea.”

then she says
(rather adroitly)
“…you know I simply spend a fuckload of time just trying to
get back to square one whatever
square one is is.”

He replies
<dramatically>

“Well square-fucking-one certainly
doesn’t fit your puzzle, does it?”

He leans in
(purposefully)

“I mean, all the truths have
transformed, they are so harsh, that they’re hard not to recognize.”

He leans away
<permanently>

“Are they not?”
He sniffs
<pompously>

I must say you adapt quite well.”

She laughs
<bitterly>

“Shit, dude, I have to give you credit for your perseverance in haunting my life, miserable as it is…you get the gold star award ⭐ for shallowness and cruelty. You think you’re so high and mighty but you’re closer and closer to being nothing at all in my heart or mind…”
She shakes her head
<wearily>

Christ is it time already?

“I gotta get outta here. This is not the best place on most days.
It clouds my judgment.
It needs replacing,
This place, it’s cracked and warping.”

He rises
(instinctively)

“Thanks for stopping in.  I’ll
make sure I have you so pumped full of hatred next time you come and go.
I found the machismo inside of myself to assure that you will quite vividly recall, by my insolently reminding you through my soulless actions, the poking of your bear by a legend such as myself. God you’re lucky to have known me in your life, you have no clue how awesome I am. Will you do me a huge favor?”

He asks
(Childishly)

“Sure”
she says, rising
(Hatred imperceptible)

He puts his dog’s hands on her small frame;
looking at her
<dolefully>

He whispers
<emptily>

“Just remember I meant none of it when I said ‘come and go’
as you please” when I said that you can use my place whenever you need it…
I know you’ll be sure to keep holding on to this promise all your days in utter vain. You happen to be quite masterful at that.  And don’t worry,
I will continue to keep an eye out you know, for you.”

She smiles tightly
(so anxious)

Glances a chop to his croaky throat turns and says
almost as an afterthought

“Aye, I know. I’m always taking stock, sorting
inventory, cleaning the messes up. I got your “come and go”right here!”

She makes a hip pumping motion that translates into sex.
<Angrily. Passionately>

“But you know where it is.”
She shakes her again as she permanently exits this place, his life.
<sadly>

As the door closes behind her

He thinks,
(Comfortably)

“Not really. But I am lying,
I am lying.”

Her back knows the door all too well.

“I needed you to be real.” She says
<absently>

“I’ll have to write down all the ways you’ve betrayed me;
my memory doesn’t work so well, especially when I am caught up.. ”

She’s thinking…
(a decisive stare)

“How can you look yourself in the mirror?…lying like you did;
I don’t need this shit right now
I shouldn’t be here!”

He asks…
<matter-of-factly>

“Does the rain bleed sideways always?  Or does it come in sporadic torrents spurting out
covering everything like a permanent stain?”

His self-absorption is tangible; he continues…
(A hollow stare)

“I knew where you were the whole time, but to be honest, I couldn’t wait, I had things to do – with or without you…”

He stops speaking
<ponderously>
Then he adds
“I’m a hollow man, what can I say?”

She ignores that and says
(solemnly)

“I don’t sleep so well
insomnia from hell, really.
She gets her claws into me
so that I trance the rage.
Over and over and over and
over again it’s almost comical.  I can’t wait until the coffee is so strong that it sends her into a tailspin for once.  Just once…”

Bemused he says:

“But it’s more than just caffeine
you need on most days right?
I see you in paintings everyday
you are always so resigned in your poses. You can either look like something isvcoming around the corner at youvor you can look like you have beheld the Gods…although none of that matters, you’re dust in the wind to me.”

“Easy for you to say,”

She sobs
(endearingly)

“I think I’ll die now. I can’t
remember all these details.
My memory can play tricks on me sometimes I feel like I’m an actress in my very own horror flick. I watch the scenes go by indifferently perhaps if I got the cobwebs out I’d be able to see things more clearly;
find the pause button, you know?
I never did dye my hair…”

she says wistfully
(her repose that of an abandoned orphan)

He laughs inside.
He says
(insincerely)

“I love your hair just the way it is”

then he says
(Wickedly)

“Although, I must say, blue would really bring out your intense sadness;
he wonders…
“will she believe my horseshit? If she’s gullible enough, will you tell her I will be betwixt and between? Within and
without always just a touch away until she works through her shit? I will be around permanently.”

She smirks
(jadedly)

“The world is ending as you speak. You know, usually
she plays those same tapes,
over and over and over….
well, you get the idea.”

then she says
(rather adroitly)
“…you know I simply spend a fuckload of time just trying to
get back to square one whatever
square one is is.”

He replies
<dramatically>

“Well square-fucking-one certainly
doesn’t fit your puzzle, does it?”

He leans in
(purposefully)

“I mean, all the truths have
transformed, they are so harsh, that they’re hard not to recognize.”

He leans away
<permanently>

“Are they not?”
He sniffs
<pompously>

I must say you adapt quite well.”

She laughs
<bitterly>

“Shit, dude, I have to give you credit for your perseverance in haunting my life, miserable as it is…you get the gold star award ⭐ for shallowness and cruelty. You think you’re so high and mighty but you’re closer and closer to being nothing at all in my heart or mind…”
She shakes her head
<wearily>

Christ is it time already?

“I gotta get outta here. This is not the best place on most days.
It clouds my judgment.
It needs replacing,
This place, it’s cracked and warping.”

He rises
(instinctively)

“Thanks for stopping in.  I’ll
make sure I have you so pumped full of hatred next time you come and go.
I found the machismo inside of myself to assure that you will quite vividly recall, by my insolently reminding you through my soulless actions, the poking of your bear by a legend such as myself. God you’re lucky to have known me in your life, you have no clue how awesome I am. Will you do me a huge favor?”

He asks
(Childishly)

“Sure”
she says, rising
(Hatred imperceptible)

He puts his dog’s hands on her small frame;
looking at her
<dolefully>

He whispers
<emptily>

“Just remember I meant none of it when I said ‘come and go’
as you please” when I said that you can use my place whenever you need it…
I know you’ll be sure to keep holding on to this promise all your days in utter vain. You happen to be quite masterful at that.  And don’t worry,
I will continue to keep an eye out you know, for you.”

She smiles tightly
(so anxious)

Glances a chop to his croaky throat turns and says
almost as an afterthought

“Aye, I know. I’m always taking stock, sorting
inventory, cleaning the messes up. I got your “come and go”right here!”

She makes a hip pumping motion that translates into sex.
<Angrily. Passionately>

“But you know where it is.”
She shakes her again as she permanently exits this place, his life.
<sadly>

As the door closes behind her

He thinks,
(Comfortably)

“Not really. But I am lying,
I am lying.”

20-Hour Lifespan.

Can I fill your palm with trinkets taken away,

from the struggles I’ve come through to get here today?

Can I trail along behind every step that you take?

Can I open my chest and show you the mess that you’ve made?

Try to drive home to you all the notions abound,

like feathery thoughts gently showering down,

can I stay beside you now?

Crestfallen.

You know what? No, not Chicken Butt…

I’m serious about this, I’m fucking tired…

Tired of what? I really don’t know how to package this thing that so tires my spirit into any words that I know; this thing that drains the very life from my span is something intangible, something unseen, something undefined…by me, at least. I think it might well be what some folks consider as “love”, others maybe call the same thing “empathy”, “caring” or any one of many titles associated with feeling shit for other people. It hurts me to let my guard down, every time…which in turn, creates the ugly pattern of isolation and loneliness. Those are the rock and hard place that my existence seems to teeter between. That unpromising predicament doesn’t even take into consideration, the horrific train wreck that litters debris throughout the space between that rock and that hard place. It just doesn’t ever turn out to be worth it to get close to anyone to any degree, as most people tend to mutated versions of human being who never dive below the shallow surface of things.

I don’t mean to judge, but damn…if you are so fucked up that you can’t control yourself from needlessly and carelessly victimizing good people just because you can, you should be the hermit in isolation, not me…wtf?

Unworldly.

It’s a hurtful thing, to have someone in your heart when that person can’t be part of your world…

It Goes On.

Fingers drum,

tip-tap tedium,

the beat goes on,

deepened delirium,

creeps into the bone,

the sub-woofer explodes,

sensory overloads,

the beat goes on,

mouth is numb,

dried out tongue,

gravitational,

the tendency to flow,

the way my body goes,

it’s confusion,

the beat goes on,

rhythmic illusion,

cosmic rendition,

of a regular Joe,

sensational,

irrational,

nothing notable,

the beat goes on.

 

 

 

 

 

Lily Lives!

It’s been quite some time since I planted anything new (I don’t farm ganja at home) in the front or back yard at my house; this is because I live with men who would sooner park the shell of a Studebaker over a patch of green than to water it and help keep it alive. The gardening aspect of what used to be two of my favorite places to spend my time has all but vanished in the face of what has gradually become the likes of a junkyard. I can barely stand to look outside in the back anymore.

Last month when we had a few gnarly wind storms, our side-back fence ate shit onto our side between ourselves and our neighbor (an awesome human being who happens to be a federal police officer and an Iraq War veteran, for the record), smashing and demolishing anything green still standing, including the last stem of sentimental gardening remaining to me. It was a huge prize-winning and quite mutant-esque flower: my Burnt Orange Easter Lily that I planted within weeks of moving in here with Dice over five years ago. In time, it had become one of my best kept secrets and thrived in the face of all the destruction, automobile chemicals, and various dogs with the tendencies to dig.

I will admit to being deeply bothered by the sight of the fence collapsed into rubble atop of the strip of yard where my lily had lived. I dared not say a thing though, because I repeatedly fall into the mindset that my boys don’t pay particular attention to my wishes or desires when it comes to most things; why waste the breath? Dice finally put the finishing touches on the reconstructed fence yesterday afternoon. I had jokingly commented that he took long enough to put up the lattice over there on the side yard, as he had been over there noisily doing things for several hours after the last piece had gone up.

This morning, I awoke exceptionally late (for me) from a night full of terror and horrid nightmares; and I went out back with my coffee to begin to shake off the high-speed wobbles that such a night unfailingly bring. I was so happily surprised to see that I was wrong in being certain all this time that Dice has no clue about my sense of loss behind my final patch of garden being wiped off the landscape. Dice is good this way, as this isn’t the first time he has shocked me speechless through an unspoken action that tells of his attention paid to the things I say in passing when I am sure that nobody is listening.

 

Big Differences.

Growing up, every year on my birthday, my Dad would make a point to become overwhelmed by sentiment, and then force his recollections upon me of the day that I was born. I typically spent the following few moments listening to him describe what life had been like prior to my birth (a dramatically dismal and rainy scene in which he, my Papa, and my older brothers spent their days feeling incomplete and longing for the missing piece to the puzzle of Life that only I could provide). My father never held back from parenthood, and he did everything with gusto when it came to his kids – his only daughter, especially – so the birthday strokes came on thick and lasted pretty much throughout the day until I went to bed.

Anyway, I think about this often (at least once a year); and can’t help but to compare these types of memories with those that surround me as the parent and Boo as the birthday girl (her 19TH birthday is tomorrow). It makes me dwell heavily in the land of self-inventory…and I can’t help but to wind up feeling guilty and shitty because I honestly don’t have such sweet sentiments in regard to my Life as a mother to Boo. I always used to eat myself that way because I would secretly feel quite different about Life before and after Boo (in comparison to those annual mountains of sugar that my Dad always fed me, at least).

Just been stuck in Plebian Mode all day over this stupid comparison, I thought I’d dump it out into the Universe and see if that helps it go away.

Notes to Self: Note 325

Dear Self,

Yes, you are going to become one of “them”… you know who I refer to…you’re closer everyday to fitting the profile dashingly; just go out and get the 23 stray cats, already…get it over with.

Early morning, pre-coffee birthday wishes in the German language when you’ve forgotten it’s your birthday, as well as the fact that you live with a German, can be cause for it’s own follow-up therapy session; just sayin’.

The “word on the street” seems to be lazily conveying that it’s time to go home and put your jammies on.

“Going out” for your birthday isn’t supposed to entail a trip to CVS for laundry detergent.

Maybe this will be the year that you finally accept the reality that you don’t get carded anymore when you buy liquor or smokes.

Yes, you still live (and therefor, must drive) in the Silicon Valley; you can’t, or shouldn’t wonder why you always get home feeling like you just jumped out of a plane.

Try calming the fuck down, somehow – before your heart explodes; you’re not getting any younger.

The Plank.

You, so manly
present to me
a charming mystery,
cyber-spatially,
but maybe,
tell me…
your well-versed hands,
can they find me,
and touch me?
Can that buccaneer,
pirate this booty?
Can your glasses shade,
this blazing heat?
Can your man stand up,
to your poetry?
our secret affair
of which you’re not aware,
surprise!
do you follow me?

Jeg ber dere.

Jeg ber dere …
If I had you alone for a while
I guarantee
I could make you smile –
A broad, wide grin
that’d stretch for miles…
You’d be my daddy,
I’d be your love child;
Under the covers
a universe so wild,
believing and seeing –
the other side
of the coin –
tender loin,
my need –
overrides;
beg and moan
pump and groan
til the tears come
to my eyes;
A stroke and you’re in,
Now the pleasure
begins,
You take away from me –
only to
give back in full,
again.
jeg ber dere…
Suction from
puckered lips
pressure from you
finertips,
deep inside,
now – HOLD
recognize…
take it back again,
I beg of you
“Sugar, please?…”
You decide then
to let me
finally win;
you get me
to heights I’ve never been;
Please? Come back in…
I’ve left the
knob unlocked,
my door’s wide open
and I’m pleading too
jeg ber dere…jeg ber dere
Aye, you’re mine;
touch down
on the stars
in my skies
lick your own sweat
from my forehead
every night;
jeg ber dere
please do this right
I’ve taken to
the likes of flight
underneath
the Victory Wreath,
that you wear
in your full right.
Don’t hang me here
on the old clothesline
with all the things
that have worn
away with time;
too much sunshine –
too much open space,
jeg ber dere
I don’t belong
in that forgotten place.

An Ax in the Moon.

Above the planetary jet stream,
asunder, and bellowing,
I hear the heavy dripping,
a reserve blood supply, spilling,
I feel the blackness choking,
so much misery, throttling,
I feel the years behind you,
that drag a weight of fading loyalty;

Above the universal hollering,
beneath, and woven intricately,
I sense the teardrops pattering,
I see through vision, gone blurry,
I see the darkness encompassing,
misdirected, ill-detected feeling,
I feel the loss ahead of you
awaiting your every personal move;

Below the deepest pit of humanity,
struggling to surface, violently,
I hear your poetic story-telling,
I know each word before its ring,
I see distances between, widening,
I see the fractured lines, separating,
I know your most secret of things
I feel every pump to your heart, darling.

Tie.

There is something wholly satisfying in a moment of childhood nostalgia shared between siblings through the recollected eyes of adulthood;
There is an ancient mentally embedded sensation woven into such an instance akin to the finishing of a most gluttonous seven-course feast of the most filling foods and drink;
It is the momentary revival of our most purely experienced joys in Life, our most simply created smiles attached to memories that science has hinted will be vividly with us until we expire in old age;
It is the reminder of band-aids and muddy knee scrubs, bedtime stories and a belief in the impossible;
There are truths revealed through the adult moments spent together in casual and comfortable silences in which words are not necessary to just BE;
These truths bear features of each sibling, dead or alive, as they did in early life when hardships weren’t yet upon the heart;
These truths are the tie that binds.

My Glass.

The most frustrating paradox belonging to me at present would most certainly be the one that defines everything that I am or am not; all that I tried and failed at being; and/or everything that I have been and will never be again:

An element of existence that surely defines EVERYTHING from one moment to the next, and undoubtedly plays a large role in things like perception, willingness and overall opinions; of course, I am referring to my “attitude”. My attitude sucks for the most part right now, I admit it. I am nearly impossible to satisfy in any context right now; I am constantly harassing myself to “perfect” things, because I can’t do anything right the first time around. I am most certainly very, very ugly on the inside right about now. My thoughts weigh in salty and stained by the weight of darkness; my emotions are completely out of my own hands; I have to trust that the “guardian” (that’s what I call this state-of-mind and being because most of ME is absent right now, huge parts of my consciousness are detached) will make decisions that will carry me through, somehow. Apparently, one of those decisions has been to just go cold in order to persevere; because I have been stoic, silent, and all-around numb in regard to my daughter and the loss of whatever hope I had for her. But I have felt the attached loss and painful emotions, just not very often and not in excess (as even I anticipated); I have not been managing my emotions either, though – not necessarily allowing myself to go through them and let them be what they are…so it’s still this Limbo-esque sense of teetering.

              The paradox to which I refer in all of this is a constant punch in my throat, however, and I am curious to get anyone else’s opinions and/or input on this specific topic.

Those of us who have been wounded – truly wounded to the very core of our being – are NEVER able to revert back to the sub-conscious place that they resided before being broken; we can go to support groups to try and get better at our issues, but we will never be back to whatever we were before being mistreated. We can see therapists for fear of abandonment and/or commitment, we can talk about our problems until we go hoarse – it will not replenish what has been taken away. Despite any and all of the things that the physically/psychologically/emotionally wounded may do to better ourselves and empower the victim inside of us, our traumas CHANGE us permanently. This is no secret to me, and hasn’t been for quite some time; and in turn, I have gradually adjusted my attitude to better compliment such alterations in my character. For example, I have been disappointed so many times by so many people throughout my life so far (men in particularly) that my expectations have dropped down to nearly nothing when it comes to others. This way, I am rarely let down. This circumstance illustrates a comprehensive math equation in my opinion; it’s simple enough to deduce – self-explanatory.

On the other hand, I have earned the label of “Pessimist” as a result of my constant expectation of negative experiences, as opposed to positive ones. It really shouldn’t shock a living soul that my glass is half-empty, at best. Anybody with half a brain cell who knows ANYTHING about me and my Life’s journeys, thus far, would be a complete idiot (in my opinion) to think anything other than that I keep a half-full glass…why the fuck would I? I have no reason to be positive; I have no cause for optimism…been there, done that shit, repeatedly found myself being the dumbass for the poor management of my own expectations. But it does bother me when people say that I am a pessimist; because as much as I can admit that I am NOT Miss Merry Sunshine on the sunniest of days, I also feel pretty certain that if I truly were a pessimist, I would have never made it this far at all.

Wonder.

Sometimes, I wonder what it might be like NOT to wonder.
What it might feel like not to want.
How a life lived out from under the dark shadow cast by abuse would have felt.
What security…TRUE security, feels like to fall asleep inside of at night.
I wonder.

Necessary.

Strike me down…
make my skin bleed,
my mouth plead;
bring redemption,
about in me;
from the depths of these,
poorly received,
horror movies;
force my eyes to see,
command the finality,
break the bread,
pull up the weeds,
in every rumination,
you’ve haunted me,
Mnemosyne,
her muse is ME;
pressure-bending
swaying beliefs,
unforgiving,
of mistakes by me,
just strike me down,
end it already,
or, just wipe out,
my memories,
leave no trace left of,
so many bad things,
take the good stuff, too,
if that’s what’s necessary.

Coat-Tails.

Would you be,
any fonder of me,
if I suddenly chose,
to be listening?
Would you decide,
to more deeply confide,
the darkness behind,
so many eccentricities?
Shall I unbind,
this heart of mine,
put it on your table,
where the other parts lie?
Would you prefer,
if I were more like her:
if I lived co-dependently,
on the coat-tails of your future?
If I leaned on you indefinitely,
with intentions only pure?
Would you think again,
if I’d used words better chosen,
had I’d considered more carefully,
enchanted might you have been?
What then?
I’m in…
to an ill-wished fortress,
he’s host – I’m hostess,
let the party begin.