Today was another good day but the end always breaks my heart. They never want to leave. Their sad faces begging me. I cry behind my eyes so they don’t see. I wish for so much I can’t change. This is how we love. These days I get along okay except in the quiet the after moments the space between laughter and sleep.
Turn the lights down low. Let me leave this place from the comfort of my own bed at seventy, quick. Sometimes I actually think I’ll be around to see the world die. That would be my luck, as it was my grandmother’s. The quality of life fades, but the heart and mind remain strong. I don’t wish to die, I just want to leave the station before the suffering rolls in, but we don’t die young.
My blood line speaks for itself. The latest to prove that fact is my father, a hard noised wild man. He rode his Heritage to the end of life and back again. Now, his roar has become a groan, but he’s still kicking near eighty. Mos
Rays of light assault my eyes,
resisting the urge to open.
The sounds I hear within my head
are slow to comprehend.
The rustle of leaves against a breeze
that flows across my skin,
the scent of earth that fills my nostrils
reinforces the need to wake.
Eyes open, but do not see,
colors blurred and distorted.
Kaleidoscopes of florescent green,
makes me sick to my stomach.
Birds fly much like people drive,
with the impatience of motion.
From the ground my world spins full
three hundred and sixty degrees.
Bent and curled unable to rise
with legs made of rubber,
on the lawn is where I stay
suffering alcoholic blunder.
Perhaps now, I can finally write of romance; a tale with a story book encounter and all the stereo typical heart felt babble that goes along with it. Probably not unlike many you’ve read, but I suppose it’s all relevant to somebody.
I suppose it starts with a name; not as cliché as one might think, but appropriate. Willow understood the words, their meaning. She was all too familiar with the stone-throws of life and their impact. Bright eyed and insightful, she was a true student of human nature and she learned it well. Perhaps too well for someone her age, but then again, eighteen was enough for me, so twenty-seven was pr
Most of us aren't special or privileged. We will never be royalty or even important in the grand scheme of things. Achievements will be average at best and suffering will, for the most part, be equal.
We will all weigh the good from the bad and measure life accordingly. Self-loathing and self-pity will be a given at one point or another and we will all say things like “why me, why me”. But good things don't just happen to kings and bad things don't just happen to you.
At the top of the world there are, but a few and we are the rest. This is the way of averages. This is the norm, good, bad, or otherwise indifferent.
Kyla used to say
I was wild, untamed.
A free falling adventurist
to the extreme.
In reality,
I was on a crash course with life
and through me, she discovered a taste
for undiscovered landings.
Together we took flight.
Found new edges to leap from
and stayed at the hip
to the very end.
So here's to old flings,
mirrors and swings,
and all the wonderful messes we made.
Here's to sex on rooftops
and changing cars in the fast lane
just so we could explore
the back seat.
Here's to all the good times
and experiences of old
that let us know
we actually lived.
The morning sun
beams through the front windshield
like an intruder:
brash and unwelcome, forcing you to wake.
Whiskey eyed, smelling like an ashtray,
parked at the back end
of some ghetto ass neighborhood
wondering what the hell you did the night before.
It's like trying to remember words
you haven’t written yet.
One thing is for certain:
a little bit of rope goes a long way,
but a lot of rope
will hang you.
Sometimes, you have to set aside broken things and start fresh; break the chains and take flight. Words I speak more to myself than anyone else. They come not from the pipes that won't play or behind the dreamer's gaze, but from the heart; screamed so loudly, I think they'll burst from my chest. You spoke this language once, used words like fear and uncertainly, misery and suffocation, gut wrenching times to be sure, but we just weren't ready.
Now, my aim is true. My path is set, and so I step lighter these days, while you weep in dark corners; not for fear of heights or the irony of bad timing. Free spirits are meant to fly, but the ties th