Monthly Archives: August 2010

Closing In

The way she sings this word
The saddest wound I’ve ever heard
Together when we die…
Sad little note and I

I thought if I closed my eyes
You wouldn’t make me breathe
Not again, not this alone
This way to cry, the sick I heave

They see but don’t come with me
The distance always shows
Letting go the way I seem
The face begins to fold

Pain I’ve learned is sweet when worse
Remembering to hurt…
Answers opened to the soul
In no life have I found my home

———————-

I’m in between work right now. I’ve done some really stupid things, not because of something I didn’t know but more because I’m not looking to see myself “make it” anywhere. The fear doesn’t go away. I feel as though people are just lying to me. What they say will happen never turns out to be the truth. I’ve been put in some really bad situations. But nothing they put me through matters anymore honestly. I’m in free fall and it doesn’t bother me one bit. It will be over soon enough and wherever I shatter apart is right where I belong.

I don’t think much about what I’m going to do anymore. I’m just here. Confused and without enough to say. Not so bothered right now with the shame I’m supposed to feel for not getting myself “help” and for the scars I’m left with. Should have followed through the first time. That behavior wasn’t supposed to be what it turned into; it wasn’t supposed to keep me alive, but here I am three/four years later still thinking about it. Tucked away in my mind like something precious, secret, worth everything I am and all I’ve done since. My days just feel numbered.

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A Newer Skin

The clock hangs
Look down and pull open the drawer
Small people—living in your veins
And fearing for the life they saved

A slow connect not so quickened into shame
Feel for those lit candles and taste those bloodied blades
A lick—a shiver right behind the ears
Legs spring, kick the chair, you look down on its word
Almost see the face in a noise you’ve never heard

You read the language of the light
— Cold scene of the cracked mirror
Disturbed warnings of your next sleep
The final dream is here

———–

The lines above came from a really creepy feeling I got one night home alone. Finished the painting this afternoon. It seems to be something reemerging/resurfacing from an old shape with a new form, to me anyway.

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Filed under Art, poems