I’m writing songs in the wake of our four years.
I’m writing songs in order to bury you.
Our final few months were spent dragging along our former selves.
No room to adjust to the growth and no chance to heal the scars.
During this time I loved the shell of you. Waiting for the inside to match what I saw of your exoskeleton.
You had the ability, you have the ability to fight it and you don’t.
By the way,
When you said you wanted a threesome I didn’t know it would include your mother too.
No acknowledgement of relationship until you decided you were through.
And now that you’re fucking some other bitch you have the nerve to say get over it.
You said that you loved me, and that “we got to”. Some empty words are never true.
You gave up. You stopped trying. I hope you got my letter.
I apologize in advance for the mess you’re about to read, I just watched a movie where the dialogue/thought processes of the characters were similar to this, a sort of ongoing never-ending cacophony of words. Sort of dreamlike where you start somewhere without knowing how, and end up somewhere else without trying to.
So afterwards my thoughts were following a similar pattern and that’s kind of how I’d like you to read it. (Or not that’s totally up to you)
I was going to post it without any kind of explanation, but I wanted you to know what you were getting into. A true word-vomit of a pseudo-intellectual run-on sentence fueled by memories and fears and whatever else was going on when I blacked out and wrote this.
Enjoy. (You probably won’t I don’t think any of this will relate to anyone except me lol)
Where do you stop and where do you end and how does anything even begin if you’re waiting waiting waiting
I come to the conclusion that this was all madness and a mistake and we got to but that was your ending not mine you act like you have a right to choose when I had no say in the matter it’s a choose your own adventure which should be something mutual you decide hey let’s go to page eleven not I’ve read ahead and this is where it’s supposed to end-this is where we go and drag me along to whatever future therapist appointment you put me through and there again I see a face your face in everything and everyone and I need to live in the present but what is the present anyway standing half naked in the bathroom fallacies running running in a head that’s turning towards nothing but guesses and wishes and fears
Suddenly the kitten is the cat and the child is the woman and oh she has so much to bear how can she know it all now when she has an encyclopedia written in Spanish French Japanese and she never took her studies seriously so what’s to learn where to go
A poet and that’s all a lover and that’s all a person and that’s all nothing more just friends just hiding behind things no one wants to say or feel or judge to be true if there’s anything to judge at all I would blame you for lying and what is that anyway but a sorry excuse to be blameless when no one can be
You put on a sweater and tell me run on poetry is meaningless coming from a mind half jumbled with numb thoughts of disaster of hope of certainty dashed by someone else’s fears delusions surviving on conditional love a tired old speech falling on tired old ears that never listened when they could deny deny deny any attachment any abandonment any admissions at all
Lying for the sake of it a mother ambassador cell warden general hopped up on concern dished out in quiet mumblings a beseeching of truths too dishonest to matter a frog in hot water doesn’t realize the lies its mother tells until they become its own
A speech from lips shadowed by another’s and who could go on anyway scrounging after love after acceptance after peace after misery after missing love connection home it’s winter and there’s no one to come home to
Not the right kind not the permanent kind always fluctuating nebulous none committal cyclical hypocrisy But that’s just it then toothpaste on the counter never a lover chirping to the sound of diligent waves and a love without conditions was too foreign to calm could not be enough
Figure it out a purring sense of broken edges bent into places you never said you’d take me
The trance is gone.
Cleaning up corpses on the freeway,
Bloody spatter for miss November.
Moving on from Hollywood.
We’ve missed November, I’ll start when it’s over
And over it’s been in my mind again.
So it goes, lost in the wind.
Circling back, dropping the pin,
In a room too full to notice it’s ran out of gin.
Startled into recompense;
Turning it over til it all makes sense.
November was missed and I’ll start again,
Buckling under the rain.
So it goes, running thin.
You’ve grown too fat, you’ve gotten too short, the mind scolds the broken heart.
She’s working around it but nobody notices the note left out in the bin.
So it goes,
She found it hard to remember,
Her way back into life again.
So it goes.
Don’t stop me.
This one was kind of a mish-mash of ideas on my drive home late at night, hence the sort of jarringly different stanzas as the tone of it changed once I got home to work on it.
I tried adding little transitions between stanzas as a way to make it flow a little better. Not sure how well it worked but I liked it enough to publish it, so.
Thank you for reading!
I’ve felt skin hot as steering wheels
Bursting through a sickening cityscape
I see you leaving—don’t forget your tears
There is dust on the dust of your slight renown.
Sometimes I convince myself that my teeth could bite through metal
That the razor edges would do nothing to the soft parts of my mouth
That I wouldn’t bleed
Sometimes I think that I could crush glass between my fingers
That the glazed sand would find no purchase on my soft tissue
That I wouldn’t tear
Sometimes I imagine that if you were here I would be able to stand it
That the sound of your voice would be nothing but a residual melody in my mind. Your face an inkblot.
That I wouldn’t crumble.
But I know, I know, I know.
The moments tick by and I know.
I bleed, I tear, I crumble.
I am no match for the dreams that play in my head
By the end of Sisyphus Part 4 I didn’t know who I was anymore
Ageless and nameless I melt in the rain
You’re doubting me, timing me,
Daring me to get up again
And is it any wonder when I do?
Do these failings still come as a surprise to you?
In a minute I’m busy.
Some thoughts they surround me
I’m barreling through the rain:
Waiting to be caught.
Wilting under and then growing into the pain
I’m finding you;
I’ll be home soon.
Look for me sighing,
Somewhere under the moon
It started raining today before the clouds showed up
I’ve been chasing my tail in efforts to be enough
Slept through my alarm, cramps hitting hard,
Mom’s asking me about the broken-down car
I’m falling behind. The week hasn’t started and I want to give up, but,
You have to grin and bear it
You put up a fight
It’s the only way to break into light, happiness, laughter.
That’s what they tell me,
Even after I’ve fallen to the ground
They walk on by
“You’re not livin’ til you’re dyin’!”
What a gross goddamn lie.
And even if it’s true, it’s an awful thing to say.
Not everyone’s brains work that way
You don’t throw another stone at a person whose given up
Give them a hand when they’re feeling stuck
It won’t make the clouds go away,
But sometimes it helps to face the day
Orpheus, I’ve often wondered, why did you look if you knew your love was behind you?
But time and distance, silence and pain are enemies of love.
You feared she was gone.
I understand now. That longing, burning sensation of loss. You won’t know if you’ve made it until you see the light, or turn around and watch your life taken away.
Small mistakes tumbling down and piling up
Unfortunate lies soon discovered bury us under their once insignificant weight
Where were we living that we were so free?
What ever gave us the idea of exception from pain?
A child’s naivety
A Romantic heart
We’re torn apart
I do miss you.
I forgot to post yesterday! That’s my April Fool’s prank, I suppose. This is one from a couple months ago
The orange blossoms on your sweet tooth yellow at me as I smile at you and I can’t gather these withering flowers with ugly dreams, nasty fiends, knocking at my door
What is it for?
Single melodies playing all around pretend to revel in its percussive sound
You know I’ll always be around
Until I’m not.
Who’s happy with their lot when all you are is what you’ve got
Distracted fingers memorize stop lights and bruises, alcoholic cruises melt into me and out of you
Find your tongue is spent working its way through the cash in my wallet
Blue rubber bands paperback hands jumping frogs and mildew incense
Innocence lost lost lost in every note
Feverish pursuit, bulbous trees taking root,
I’m too late.
So, pain. It’s relative. I mean, everything is, but for some reason when someone is going through a lot, our tendency is to say stuff like, “Hey well, at least you have your health!” Or, “It’ll get better, just be grateful it’s not worse”, things like that.
This is…kinda shitty. Yes, thank you for reminding me I have both arms. Yes, I know the world doesn’t revolve around my pain, I know I’m not unique in that, I know.
What would be more productive, though, is acknowledging the fact that people experience all different levels and all different kinds of hardship.
Someone has a falling out with a friend? Their feelings are valid. Someone else loses a pet? Those feelings are valid, too, and no one gets to decide how long or short any kind of grieving period is. We as people love solutions. Cut and dry ways to “fix” things, but that’s just not how humans work. You can only get so far with that kind of problem solving, which is why I love and hate self help books.
I love them, because there are so many kinds for so many people. I also hate them because, more often than not, they’re prescribed as a kind of “fix-all”, like those all-in-one cold medicines. “Cures all symptoms. Fast relief!” Like, sure, my nose is clear, but I’ve also been staring at this wall for the last twenty minutes wondering what flavor Pepsi is.
Figuring yourself out is…never ending. People are different, and there is no single solution for hard times. It’s trial and error, and something that worked last time might not work for whatever you’re going through now.
Something I heard from a lady earlier tonight really stuck with me, though, and (at least for now) her advice has changed my perspective in my own troubles.
It’s basically that, when you’re saddled with a lot of pain, and you find yourself asking “why”, hoping, praying for better circumstances or some kind of change, it’s better to look at yourself.
Most of the time we don’t have a choice over what goes on in our lives, and that can be really devastating, that lack of control. So her thing was, “there’s a reason for everything”.
Okay, alright, I can feel the eye rolls. Just hold on, geez!
There’s a reason for everything, and sometimes the thing you need to focus on changing is not actually the circumstances, but you. All suffering is not in vain, so since you can rarely change something you don’t like, it only makes sense to focus on improving yourself.
When things are all good, when you’re happy? It’s hard to change. Definitely not impossible, but it’s hard to find motivation. You don’t want to fuck it up by going around making tweaks to yourself and whatever. You want to enjoy the happiness you have.
So once you’re thrown into chaos, your heart kind of clenches up and (I know I personally do this) you throw a pity party for yourself. That does just about nothing, though. By all means, be sad. Pain is relative, remember, but once you start looking for solutions, maybe look to yourself first instead of your situation.
And, obviously, if your situation is that you’re choking in a restaurant or something, that’s not the time to be doing any soul searching. Get to a hospital, you maniac, stop writing things down in your Feelings journal.
But yeah so, if things in your life are out of control, and you feel like nothing matters, you’re right!
Okay, kidding, sorry. Two jokes in a row. Bad form.
It’s kind of true, though. You don’t have control over how people receive your words, and sometimes you don’t have any way to fix things going on in your life. The only thing you really have control over is you.
You decide how you receive pain and what you’re going to do with it. Take advantage of whatever shit has been thrown your way and use it to become a truer version of yourself! It probably won’t change your situation(s), but at least you’ll know yourself a little better.
Obviously, this is a universal solution, being able to change yourself through pain, so you’re welcome for this discovery of mine.
What?? Are you seriously going to just accept that after everything I said? God. You need more help than I do. Fortunately, I know of a self help book that did wonders for a friend of mine I can recommend to you…