You've done this thing, like attaching a string, from my mind to your heart, from my mouth to your brain; You've created this thing, like a hornet's sting, from my inner-most thought, comes a painful tingling; You've become something, not quite a human being, from my unhealed parts, the blood is running again; You've turned out to sing, the song of an old enemy, from the deepest of want, for the very same things; You've proven to swing, back and forth, in between, from the history you haunt, o the throne of a King.
When you begin to hate someone who previously carried positive weight in your life, the world temporarily turns grey.
Things start to feel skewed and look grotesque.
Nothings seems to make you smile or laugh as before, nothing seems funny.
The world has changed inside of you, is changing inside of you.
You have no control over the darkening or lightening of the shades that the grey blankets over and around your life. You just have to snuggle in this blanket.
You just have to keep yourself enveloped at any cost.
There is nothing else for it.
We had drawn up this road map so grand,
the highlighted route to the ending we planned,
the flutter of cards as they dropped out of hand,
the calling of Gods in dreams we understand;
poor odds follow close, wherever I am,
fleeting as granules of time-whitened sand
fickle and pickled in the spices at hand,
between promise and oneness,
that same ol’ ominous numbness,
parlor tricks performed in a deserted land;
peopled with embodied nothingness,
void of all the sugary fluffiness,
where you are is ever where I am,
when I’m asleep that’s how it stands,
I dig in the deep with my polished hands,
driven mad by a fiendish hologram;
dropped from the attached strings,
to your heart’s working guillotine,
you never came back for me,
left me miserably, deservedly
just as I am.
Had I not already been neck-deep in the execution of self-sabotaging the thing between me and a particular (possibly) impossible person whom I have been trying to let “court” me, when he opted to get pissed off at me (for the very first time) and wrap yesterday up by dumping me, another Valentine’s Day might have become memorable for all the wrong reasons.
Luckily (and I say luckily with a heavy and exaggerated roll of my eyes), I was well into that familiar, contradictory and counter-productive pattern of “seek-build-destroy” when it all happened – so I wasn’t too heartbroken.
I expect such things anyway, Hell, I create them. I tried to tell this one from the start, too – how we seemed to represent like, Polar Opposites at the end of the day. We have very little in common besides work (yes, we work together) and physical attraction. He literally left me with my mouth hanging open when he asked me to go out with him because I had previously imagined him as a total yuppie that travels for fun (he’s very worldly) with season tickets to the Warriors or whatever. Like many men from “the clean side of the tracks”, he was intrigued by my roughened edges, I suppose. When I told him that I thought we had nothing in common with each other, he said something like,
“Just let me surprise you on that score.”
A surprise that I am still waiting for…
is too normal (he reads the newspaper and drives an SUV)…too well-maintained by scheduled workouts and personal tailors…too condescending without meaning to be…too hopeful and focused on The Big Picture.
am so fucked up in the head that I can’t get close to anyone (the more I want to, the harder it gets to actually let happen)…too unbalanced and paranoid by a lack of human interaction…too defensive without meaning to be…too traumatized to exist outside of One Moment At A Time.
There’s no pattern to the trend
That teeter totters without end
No method to a madness that mends,
The sadness between every exhalation,
I pull, you push.
You’re slow, I rush.
There’s nothing happy in the end
To go and slap me in my face again
No loss of sleep, no skipping heartbeat to maintain,
No giggling, no tickling the inkling in my brain,
I give, you take.
You bend, I break.
- Dead people are ALWAYS accompanied by paperwork; if they have no paperwork, we unfortunately have NO business with them, or their loved ones.
- Even when it comes to a thing as sacred as a family burial plots, the living are conniving weasels behind the backs of their own family members.
- When or if you ever find yourself dealing with a service counselor, funeral director or arranger, there is a strong possibility that you are actually engaging with a retired Marine or Navy officer; it is just as strong of a possibility that you are being counseled by a surviving POW (At my cemetery, at least).
- Regardless of your own religion or belief system, it is out of a generalized respect for human life and death that you should ALWAYS stand and bow your head to the passing of a funeral procession (even our yard crew guys stop what they are doing and remove their caps when they see one coming or going by).
- It is a true fact that a disturbing number of people (that you know) have already planned their own burial wardrobe.
- Most people who are buried in a casket are not wearing shoes.
- The “toe-tag” has evolved into no more than an urban legend these days.
- Where I work, there are record books that are each literally heavier than me from the 1800s that were hand-written and can still be accessed to date.
- Thousands of people died of “Dentation” in the old days.
- Even in death, we continue to intentionally pollute our Mother Earth through our need to be preserved and maintained.
A very shifty combination,
so decried the chemistry,
mixing hard-earned salvation,
in with exponential insecurity…
A noteworthy disintegration,
in the joints behind each knee,
an ever-hanging expectation,
that it will give way eventually…
A monotonous lamentation,
such disappointment did I bring,
a repetitive declaration,
a tourniquet – always reminding…
A mind full of a heart’s degradation,
a swan hiding wolves beneath each wing,
a perfected form of pure placation,
the rejected face the glass is reflecting…
A very questionable equation,
the sheet of paper full of scribbling,
an indefinably cold sensation,
took out knees and left me shivering.