I am sputtering incoherent rage
Seething above a cold and ancient
Waiting to be freed from shackles
Forged in blood and promises
Cold heart breaks free from warm blood
Two trapped wolves
Salivating at the thought of meat
The long knives wait for willing hands
Wait until will breaks
Until at last the shield of empathy
Of hope and joy
Until only memories and copper strength
Vie for attention
So begins a war in the heart of one man
So begins a war in us all
The quiet panic of other people sits heavy in the background of a thumping heart
Floating anxiety feels tangible in the afternoon silence
Too cold waiting for the thaw
Waiting for arms to hold
Lost in a hell of without
A winter’s night
And no fire
Except I’m tired
Except I teared up for no reason other than imagining someone holding me and telling me that everything would be okay
Never mind that I don’t know what everything is
But my words come slowly if at all
What was a torrent is now leached slowly to the surface
Barely a trickle
Barely a mouthful
Except the distance and the daily
I’m broke down tear streaked cold nosed sleep deprived humanity
In other words normal end of weekend depression
Having to go to work to earn that money to live another two weeks and spend enough to feel just a little bit in control of my pain addled life
Each day begging for an end only to stumble through my door and collapse into bed asleep
Waking up way too early
To roll the dice on forlorn hope
Fucked up that chance is the only solution that I can think of
Broken bone words splintered in forgiveness without the chance to heal
I’d give up I think
But I’d rather be if at all possible
In your arms
Resting blank face
Eyes alight behind a mask of unmoving skin
Permanent thousand yard stare
“Who are you trying to intimidate,” they ask
This is a defense
The one lie I allow
To hide the pain that courses just beneath the surface
Just under the distraction
Just under the distance
Keeping questions at bay
As much as possible
You learn not to ask how I’m doing
Because that’s spoken true
Fool yourself into thinking
Even as I drown a little more
History full of lost chances
Sometimes I think that my life is a path
Wind and rain and casual travelers
All taken this care worn road
Erasing the lines
Until all someone might find beautiful
Who will find their way
To marvel and dream along my haunted shores
No longer shiny or new
Who will follow to paths ending
Dying on the edge of love
Secrets deepen the longer they are held
Each one pill sized
Hidden from view
Left to bloom and grow
Working their way through limbs
And always the hesitation
To say what was
What you tell no one
Lest they scoff and say not real
The image before you cannot be who the festered darkness says you were
You know your secrets to be unpalatable
To be outrageous and impossible
To be true and heavy
Lead weights keeping you from the last mile
Last steps before true connection
Instead tending an inner garden of night blooming flowers
Each deadly and poisonous
What was done cannot be undone
Then what good will speaking do
I have things I want to say but they all feel like a remix rehash of conversations held before. Like being tired isn’t new and being alone isn’t new. Waking up and going to work. Being in love, the constant state of my being. Wondering about maybes and wondering about other shoes and planning actions and reading books and reading poetry and it’s all the same.
The constant drips of a life flowing away.
The minutes spent with a pet. The enforced perspective of now.
Not having anything to say except all the things I’ve said.
I’m sure there are stories I’ve not told and memories I’ve not shared. They just seem so far away. And very few want a dissertation on mannerisms and choices as informed by sociological pressures which become psychological norms by stint of being accepted practices.
Or to hear why a single brick of c4 would never create such a huge explosion no matter how many detonators you pushed into it(not withstanding the complete lack of electrical signal to said detonators)
I suppose this is the unfortunate circumstance where you want to talk but have no one whose as weird as you are or who loves you enough to listen to you being weird at four in the morning.
Life isn’t what we portray it as. Sometimes, the closest you can get to a person is to hear their oddball ideas and observations and bounce your own back and that’s enough.
And other times…you need to hold someone and tell them it will be ok. Not just for them but because we all need to hear that too.
I retreat from the world into sleep every time I feel that liar in my head telling me that I’m not worth the relationships I have. That it’s no wonder that I’m alone. This litany of, I want to say lies, but I’m in it right now and I can’t say whether or not there is some truth to it. I mean I feel the weight of it. How could the people I lean on not feel that weight? And they have their own worries too. I hate adding to them. So I usually sleep and I feel better after doing so. But today I can’t do that. I have been up since midnight and I need to get ready for work. And I’ll probably be fine once I’m there and the armor goes up but it doesn’t go away and sometimes it breaks free. In these moments before I get ready, I think that I need a vacation but that’s just time alone in my head and that’s what I have now. Except, I’d get to sleep and yearn for even the limited connection that coworkers bring.
I guess most days I try to do a better job of being the man Morgan needed than I did when she was alive. If I was who I am now, she’d be by my side. And other days I think she was the only person who wanted me and look how I fucked that up. And I know it’s bullshit and that I did what I could but it doesn’t feel that way.
I think about how, if I’m this better person, why do my relationships never make it past that heady rush of the beginning months? Why do I feel the same and why do they not want me?
I feel like I’m flailing about just trying to move forward and I worry that I sometimes feel like an open wound. I hear my friends telling me that they want me around.
I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Just that I’m tired and want to sleep and I’m tired of finding people and losing people. Is the fault in the choice or the execution? I try to be less “I love you” now. Because I say it too soon?
Maybe they think it’s desperation or a projection of need? But my pain is knives turned inward. My perception and standards remain intact. I know how I feel. It’s just experience tells me that that doesn’t matter. No matter how much you love someone, they leave you. Better they know now, before it’s too late.