Reflections of a Dead Man

 The date has been set.
Then again, I suppose it always has been.
If you believe in that sort of thing.

The day, I hope, is as beautiful as it was all those years ago.
I hope the magic sustained in the air like dust in the sunlight
from when it was born.

I hope it isn't as ugly as it seems.
The action itself seems liberating, yet so demeaning.
How odd it is to consider that a heart that has been beating for such a long time,
may end by a sudden trauma.
Life is so fragile. Truly, a gift.
It's shameful so much of it was wasted
looking for the very thing it had all along.
Life.
The virtuousness should be unlimited, considering how easy it is to lose.
But I guess life was never easy.
Life is a problem-solving game we play by chance, only to lose in the end.

Such a shame it has to end like this.
How I wish it didn't.
How I wish I could pursue the dreams I once held so dearly,
to believe in the things I once believed,
to love the people I once loved,
to hold the one I once held, hourlessly.
If only there were a way out of this tunnel.

Wishful thinking. I've searched every nook and cranny.
There are no holes in these solid walls.
There is no light in front of me.
If I could only go back to the start and change my wrongs,
ease the burdens of my loved ones,
frequently explain to them the deepest affections I once held for them, truly,
may my soul rest in peace.

But they will never know.

This is an act of martyrdom.
I've become a burden to my loved ones,
not even graciously an empty shell they must carry,
but a full shell, filled with cement and dirt and worms and the odor of a decaying man walking amongst the living.

The only light in this tunnel is bored against my back,
and I see my silhouette, the personality I used to be,
and I would wave at myself but she's crying.

Because I'm not coming back and she knows that.

And her pain is my pain. I feel it in my bones when every tear runs down her delicate, innocent cheek. I cannot turn back, but oh god, how much I want to.
How much I want to walk back into the light and embrace the self I'm used to, the Safest Place in this world.

But I can't, because she's dead.

I'm not her anymore.

The date has been set, and my time is limited.
I refuse to waste a moment of it.

No Inspiration

The ocean feels hot today.
Perhaps compared to my cold blood it is.
I'm standing at the entrance of the sea,
the undertow is tempting the sand around my feet.
The sun is setting
and the ocean feels hot today.

Breaking away from the current, I walk to through the dry sand
the heat reminds me of a blow-dryer
to the sandy deck where my apartment lies.
Instead of using my key to unlock my door,
I break in with my credit card.
I still feel this place is not my home.
I'm just a permanent visitor here.

Roommate is gone, don't know where.
It seems irrelevant.
The kitchen is clean and empty.
This house is spotless. Perfect.
Empty.

Bedroom is Sanctuary.
Dying in this room is half the way I live.
The familiar smells, not exactly odorous, but humanly,
the bed to rest and never rest on,
Only the pale blue walls and the windows communicate with the outside world.
It's the safest place to die
when there's no inspiration left.

Pounding on the Door With No Fists

Screaming in your ear with no mouth
Pounding on the door with no fists
Swallowing pride that doesn't exist
Speaking in tongues without a lisp

Killing the daughter that was never born
Torn by pain that was never scorned
Hurt by words that were never said
Instead just implied,
between the lines that were never read

I Can't Listen to Them Anymore

You're the Angel and the One, my little Blackbird.
Sweeter than Rhubarb.
Don't Ever Fucking Question That.

I've Just Seen a Face,
and it looked Just Like Heaven.
It was A Thousand Miles away,
but it was Brighter Than Sunshine.
I Let him Be, because he was holding up Warning signs.

Yesterday, I saw you.
Yesterday seems so far away.
I was Hanging By a Moment, so you never saw me too.
but I saw You. And I saw The Waitress, too.

God Loves her.

You should know that I still sleep with a Body Pillow.
All the girls ask about it, but I tell them that I'm Fallin' for 'Em.
I need someone to hold on to.*
"You're a God in bed," I tell them, "and it aches If You're Gone."

I love my Suicidegirls.

Everything reminds me of you.
Why do you get all the love in the world?

Things I Wish I Could Tell You, III

I can see you now.

It's amazing. I can see you, for the first time in ages.
And you can see me. We're sharing an awkward, intimate stare.
My hand is pressed against the glass dome that contains you.
There's black smoke clouding your environment, but it doesn't matter.
There are cracks from my fights with it,
often beating the sides
and throwing mass energy, fueled by anger and desperation
and need.

but you see me now.
Yes, you see me.
You're looking right at me.
My vocal cords have atrophied.

Your expression seems confused and sad. You press your hand against the glass.
I want to take my hand away, to hide.
but I don't.
No, I can't.
You can finally see me.
Running away, I cannot see.

Most of my muscles have given way now,
under the pressure of your stare.
I am conscious of the need to move, to prove I'm real.
But I don't know where to go
or what to do.
I don't want to frighten you.
I don't want you to leave.

My other hand touches the thick glass, where your face would be.
I wish then I could touch you, to heal the scars across your eyes;
The many scars I've dealt you,
to medicate them.

But I must settle with distant touch.
Staring, I see so much pain.
So much hidden in your eyes.
So much no one can see, no one can see you.

No one can see us, but we're almost touching.

I want to heal the scars on your face.

But my muscles are stiff.

I realized how important this moment is.
I realized how much more I have to tell you.
I trace the crack in the dome with my finger.
It doesn't frighten you, but you're still. Hand pressed against the glass. Against mine.
I punch the crack with contained force, and a puff of smoke emits. I smell it before it hits me.

Marijuana.
Perfume.
Ignorance.
Money.
Carelessness.
Excitement.
Youth.

Your stare digs deep into my thoughts. You live in this constant high, and yet, you still press your hand to the wall. You press your hand to mine, though I offer none of these things; I offer uncertain future,  I offer truth. You live in a world absent of these things... And you press your hand to mine.

You Still Believe in Me.

No one said it was going to be easy (moving backwards, ii)

Back a year,
in the eyes of you.

my feet are cold
as I listen to my own voice
on the other end of the phone
crying so loud
in the middle of the day.

I'm screaming, please, no
please don't do this
please don't go
your tears, now mine, are suppressed,
you're empty but something is stirring in your stomach
it feels like fear, it feels wrong
it's received as pain but it just makes you tired
like the tears are stirring in the bottom of your heart,
knowing what you're doing
is wrong on so many levels,
knowing that you're supposed to leave
but you're supposed to be with her
forever.

not because you want to,
but because it's etched in your genetic make-up.

my sobbing on the other end keeps it alive.
when i'm gone, you feel okay,
but it feels off,
like the earthquake
somehow tilted a tectonic plate sideways,
a crooked world.

i don't know you.
or if this is how you felt.

 but what i feel right now
feels like you.
it feels like your body's pain.
it feels like your cold feet
and your pain
and your cauldroned tears.
i don't know you but this is your pain.

guilt is unfamiliar.

it feels so off.
this doesn't feel normal, not even remotely.
it feels nauseous, it feels cold, it feels tired, it feels miserable but happy.
not happy because im gone, but happy for some other reason,
and it doesn't feel like her,
it doesn't feel like freedom,
it feels like release.

 it feels like half of you is miserable
while half of you is happy.

why were you so happy, you crazy man?
hah. you crazy man.
if only you knew what happened to me.

unresolved wounds, so complicated.
this pain feels unfamiliar, feels strange.
like no one has felt this before.
it feels like a unique strain of pain
that belongs only to you,
can only effect you,
can hurt only you
can kill you...

this is the day you died.

you became Lord of the Flies after this day,
when i cried so loud
when you told me
everything was going to be okay. Those were your last words to me.
Your last real words, anyway.
that was the day i let go of you
the day I accepted you were dead
in the back of my mind.
This is when the decomposition began.

This is when the world ended.

We're moving backwards in time so quickly, my friend,
and we're going to fix the mistakes we made.
Just hold my hand
and don't let go.

It's not going to hurt you anymore.

Wake-Up Call (moving backwards, pt i)

Drifting back into consciousness
sweat pouring down my forehead
and everything's dark and calm

The longest nightmare in history.

 I'm awake, but I need to wake up.
I'm going to set it in reverse
and put the pedal to the floor
and fix what's eating me alive.

Sometimes,
you have to go backward
to truly move forward.

The alarm clock's buzzing in my ears,
today isn't the day,
that's okay.
The day will come.

So set me in reverse.
It's time to pull the vase
from under the rug
and dust
from under the couch.

It's time to tell mom and dad about
the parties I threw while they were
out of town.

It's time to bury the nameless dead men
that linger on the shoulders
of my soul.
It's time to set them free
to disintegrate into the night;
to fire them from
the graveyard shift.

It's time to put Mary and Lucy,
to lay them in their
eternal slumbers,
to find peace at last.

It's time to walk this road I chose backwards,
to go back to that fork
in the yellow wood,
to choose the one less traveled by.

The nightmare is over
because I'm going to end it.

This is my wake-up call.

I don't like your tone.

Travel through the dark, cold tunnel
See the faces of the men fallen from hunger
In the darkness, see them
their twisted faces
hungry and sorrowful
and so very dead.

then the tunnel ends
and the sun illuminates the scene,
warms the face and the soul,
the green of the trees glow with vitality
the flowers smile and the fields roll
the rabbits hop
and the deer jump
and the baby foxes play.

mamma fox hunts in the forest
to feed her children,
her teeth bared
and her body vibrating with adrenaline,
wary, hyperaware

she spots her pray,
a bearing rabbit,
and mamma leaps,
catching the rabbit by the neck,
tearing her apart,
slowly,
she must savor the flavor,
she must make sure it's well,
she must catch the best for her children.

the ground below holds two groundhogs
in their first parenthood.
Mom engulfs her children,
Dad engulfs Mom.
their warmth is shared amongst
the Cold Ground.
The babies fidget and fuss
and Mom shifts
to accompany them.
Dad's heart is
warmed
as his blood pounds to a new rhythm,
"Family."

Re-entering the tunnel,
three words are written on the side of the wall,
carved from rock, white and rough.
"LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL."

Infantry

You had your chance and you wasted it.

I don't care if I can't find another you.
I don't care how beautiful you are.
I don't care if you are the "one and only" people search for all their lives.

I'm going to destroy your presence inside of me
just like I destroyed the Others.

I've had enough of these cliches.

No more relapse.
No more second thoughts.
Take all of your stuff.
Take everything.

I'm not coming back.
Ever.