Too tired for laughter

Waiting for the hammer fall
Anxiety cripples
Stress piled on stress makes mistakes
And each mistake feeds the certainty that job loss is around the corner
In a economy not hiring
Isolation becomes depression
Sleeping all the time
Uncomfortable in my own skin
Wanting extended conversations about nothing
About everything
White noise
Heavy heart

Bitter pill affect

When given social permissions to be myself I don’t do constraint or what is termed normal. I’m poetry and flowers and that tea you mentioned in passing that one time. I’m kisses and touches and tears. I’m telling friends that I love them and music, and songs made up and sung right there.

I’m either locked down or free and I don’t know how to be else. And I don’t know that I want to be.

So if you see me smiling for no reason or catch me with tears in my eyes or, on extremely rare occasion, complimenting some random stranger then walking away. Be happy. You’ve caught a rare glimpse past my shell. Something few ever see.

In joy and in pain I, like most of us, am hidden. A false front. A city of doors. A maze without end.
And sometimes…often…I feel so lost

Waiting for the door to open, having lost the desire to go through

I’ve talked about big things
Past things
Love things
I’ve talked about social things
Emotional things
Psychological things
I’ve talked about the inner workings of my soul
About music
About poets
I’ve written erotica
One off spy stories
I’ve turned a one off erotica story into a fool blown series with characters and plot
I’ve written, performed, recorded, and edited a serial novelization told in 3 voices and perspectives which span numerous hours and which took an hour of editing per 5 minutes of audio.
Then I did that 2 more times

But now I’m having trouble finding words
But really it’s finding time
Time to sit and be without worry weighing me down
Without concern for finances which never consumed me before
I’ve been lucky enough to have a place to land
I’ve been lucky enough to have freedom enough to be able to write
Even though that’s not how I make money
I dislike having lost that
But I’ve traveled the road of preservation of past instead of future
And that is always filled with painful regrets
Paths cut before completion
It’s like there is a membrane where before was a open door
Writing still exists on the other side
Just now it’s an effort filled with stress and struggle to get there
Maybe it’s lack of sleep
Or maybe living unsettled like this is always a shatter away from failure
The thinner the margin the harder the fall
And at some point the fall seems inevitable

Uncomfortable with crowds

Depression is insidious. For me, when its not overwhelming sadness, it’s self destruction. It’s eating too much. Spending too much. Pushing too hard. Overcorrecting until people are sick of it. Or staying up way too late even when I recognize that I’m tired. Even when I’m falling asleep in my chair.

And the thing is, things aren’t bad. I’m anxious for a trip I have to take for work. Basically because there will be a ton of people there and I won’t have any social cover or retreat. Other than that, I’m good.

But still I push past endurance. Still I do this. Self destruction. In service to nothing. And, while I’ve gotten better down the years, I’m still not well. I don’t even know what well looks like. And it baffles me that there are people out in the world who have no idea what this is. They never feel like this. And if they do, they shake it off. Like it’s nothing, like it’s easy.

To me, they are aliens. I can’t relate to that frame of reference. I don’t know what it is. So we are aliens to each other. Describing the indiscribable. And getting lost in the words we can’t share.

And I wonder, how many dichotomies are like this? How many fundamental schisms of perspective are there?

We share this world, but I don’t think we live in the same one. And that is the hardest thing to accept and convey. The reason we are so fundamentally divided is that we have codified our stances as fundamental parts of our being. And so, every deviation is a existential fight for identity with no person or group able to give ground. Lest we are forced to redefine our self as other.

I despair for humanity. Not because I think we are doomed but because I see the downward trend. And I don’t know if we’ll make it out. I hope there is some angle I’m not seeing. Some truth that lays fallow and unknown waiting to bring forth life.

But still its late, and even now I procrastinate.
I can still get a couple of hours of sleep, maybe.
I can control me. And maybe that’s all we could ever do. And maybe that will need to be enough.

Bent penny dreams

lives too full of living
Look for some future to slow down
Breaking ourselves apart
To gain a moments respite
We cost ourselves a life
Hours of days spent in the service of the wealth of others
Gaining just enough to get by
Just enough to numb ourselves
To start all over again
I wish I could be the firebrand
Setting brush fires in fallow minds
But who has the energy
Revolution ends in destruction
In the creation of structures that resemble the same that were burned
What’s the point
Money, false scarcity, power and the indifference of those who have those things
Taxes?
Pay your people more
Top down doesn’t work
A wide base spending more does
Creating more
Having the time to invest in ourselves
In the creation of health
In the settling of unquiet minds
Enough money to not be afraid
That’s all we’re talking about

Anxiety scrambles for purchase

Sounds get stuck on my tongue
A few words waiting to be said
Waiting for some truth
As the stress mounts
Real sets in
Unsexiest of worries
About money reel and hopeful
What was can seldom be
Unless perfect storm and
Responsibility
All boats rise with prosperity
But so do they in calamity
And mindless ramblings for wars of desire combat against what’s possible
Until emergency depletes and scramble for purchase on dirt
Hard packed with indifference
Easy to live without the cost of living
Scramble for a place makes mock of all
Until only the memories stand sentinel
Around broken forms
Lifeless
After the fall

Pawns of a waking dream

There was a time when I thought I could teach the world what it could be
Thought that shaping words and connecting thoughtss
Invoking emotions and making manifest not just desire but forming reality to will
Would somehow resonate and works its way beyond my borders
Would transform those it touched and somehow reshape a world dying

As days and years passed
I gave up on those thoughts that bloomed as a redolent flower which strutted and strived
Glitzy and hollow
Grip slowly relinquished as new life broke the mold of what was making me into what would be
And in the chrysalis of new beginning
A blow to the heart set me spinning away from one path as time and history rewrote itself
And I
At junction
At crux
Was cast out
Flotsam on the river of causality
Chrysalis hardens to shell
And denied outward growth
The only way out became down
Deep through pain and loathing
Into depression which had always nibbled at the edges
And now gloried in being centerpiece for a captive audience
Deeper
Core out each piece
And discern crystal or flaw
Raw and wriggling
Pink remora leaving behind fresh wounds but dying alone on the cold pavement
Each passing year a broken memory until tattered cataclysm in shredded throat torn again and again
feeling as blood and pressured release
Scream frequency finding harmonic resonance
In shell long past useful
And burst outward infecting
Killing what it touched
And still a bit remained
A blade sheathed beneath bone
A weapon of times long gone
Master no more and wielded wild-eyed
Agony as all walls fall and what was out caresses newly formed akin
Until pleasure and pain are just two ways of speaking and both hold no discernable sway over the other
Instead, both in their firmament
Gods bestride a world of flesh
And I mistress and master
Betrayed broken and each broken rib pierced breath
Imperceptibly easier

Until anew
A person looks out
Wondering at a world they didn’t live through
A time traveler taking the longest route through blindness to arrive in a fight that cannot be one
With coping skills that say to take a simple action
One that heart and eyes know will be unforgivable but effective
Begging anyone willing to give permission for the monster inside
Blade buried in bone
To be let free
Afraid to be allowed to be
And watching as it all burns
Silence let’s go its grip
A wave forms seeking cross and disruption
Seeking amplitude match
And growth
Seeking
Voice to voice
Until all of us
Throats raw and bleeding
In notes crystalline from cores of reflected shatters
Speak
Sleepers
Wake!

Outdistance the possibility of good

That simple smile holds back despair
That cold drink saying everything is a lie
Not even a lie
Told to be kind
But instead masks the malice of never wanted
Smiling faces
Facade drip blood
Broken branches
Nothing of the me that was remains
Only memories which fade and die
Losing coherence until only a dull ache
Remains to make eyes see
Nothing works
Not even love
And only the steep slide into oblivion
That slow churning slip into disappearance
Presents as solution

Maybe I just miss my cat

Life is a series of disappointing events stretching out to the horizon
Stacked one on one until the last kills
Each day is a pointless stumble from one meaningless task to the next
And each moment we struggle to free ourselves results in just one more cinching of the noose
Each action crumbles into paralysis
Breaking ourselves open
Searching in the blood and offal for some shred of hope
Finding the one pearl that seems to give meaning
Right up until it crumbles and blows away
Never what you thought it was
And having known hope where before was only bland continuance
You fall
Pushed into despair
And drown
Each fight to the surface
To glimpse the reflected sun of hope
Ends in the deep water reclaiming you
Until the only action left is to drown with something like dignity

A night in the lonesome September

Is it folly to love deeply?
To break bread with heartache in the slim hope of a tomorrow not promised?
To drink from the cup of dreams
Our love burns now
A fire unquenched
A conflagration which itself ignites and births forth a sun
And still I fear
For life has taught me that I fail
That love
No matter how deep
Or hot
Dies
And too often quenched before mine own

Or maybe not this time
Maybe in each other we are found
Seen
Known
Loved
I am a fool of hope
Painting pictures in my blood
Hearts beat
And soon joined
“How will I ever let you go?”
Whispers the dark liar
“She won’t want you”

I don’t need assurance
I’m no fading flower waiting to be perked up
I need her by my side
My champion, my conqueror,
Mine