Saturday, December 24, 2011

6AM Ramblings

The best time I ever had was with you
and lately I've been pretending it never happened,
in a way

Ignoring the realization that's never changed,
long ago I told myself that falling in love with an asshole
was the worst yet most meaningfully romantic gesture
I ever attempted to commit to, by the way
I jest with the gesture word

The happiest I've ever been is with a whore,
someone so broken that I felt superior or somewhat helpful,
or did I really love her, or was it her eyes, ass or the smile she carried,
who knows? I don't.

The worst part of my life, what defines who I truly am,
I've ignored it for too long, the gloves of my crimes grown over
with dust and regret, the best part of my life, the worst

I miss you, but I can't deal with letting you go again,
so I will acknowledge that you still are alive in me
so long as you stay out there, away from me

Monday, December 19, 2011

Back From The Not Quite Dead

I gave up a part of myself
threw it down like an angry man who opens a
cigarette pack only to find nothing but foil
and though it made me sad to do so I felt
that it had to be done, the words, I asked them to go

I ate pills and sat stunned in a delusional happiness
which was the exact thing I thought I needed, and maybe
it still is

The only remarkable thing I learned about myself while in that state
was that I could smile through a lot more heartbreaking events than I thought,
and that doesn't seem enough to continue another delusion

I sit without drive now, finding it hard to care about anything,
struggling half-heartedly for a reason that makes wanting to live justifiable
and I can't find one, not one that seems like anything but a lie

This is not a suicide note nor a cry for help,
it's not even a form of poetry that I thought, as I sat down here tonight
may be possible to roll from these fingertips,
it's thoughts put on a page lazily after midnight
and a confession of a man that has given up
for the most part,
except in those times when he tickles the words with pure truth
and can't for all the straining of his imagination bring himself to imagine a laugh,
like the ones I hear when I tell jokes and smile knowing I wish I were dead