I don’t know exactly when I lost it or when it left me. Perhaps it was when I was taken out of my motorhome for the first time, second time, or even later, when I was told I was to be living in this apartment after the hospital stays. Whenever it was, I wasn’t aware of how much it was needed or even that it was gone until just this morning. You see, all I thought I needed were dreams, and those… well, those I have by the hundreds, all swarming around inside of my heart, trying to take shape inside of my mind so I can see exactly what they are, where I will be, and who, if anywhere and anyone when they come to fruition… but I didn’t realize that just as important, if not more, was hope.
I have been here before in my heart and my head and my soul and it was deeper then, the absence more profound than I felt that anyone could know and still live. Then I understood death in all of its absence, and in finding the pit, I was the lack of everything, pure solitude, unequaled, unrequited deficiency. What is what we call “human”?
I dig this up from the past.
because there isn’t anything
that makes sense anymore
because there isn’t anything
that i have to make me smile right now
and the pain of my impatience
has control over me
and i feel
futile like nothing will ever
and i hate it all right now
and i hate you all
and fuck this place
and fuck this job
and fuck this morning
and fuck you people
and fuck this page
fuck the moon
fuck the sun
fuck the stars
fuck this life of nothing from nothing and
i would love to open myself up
and feel this poisoned blood
watch as it stains the sheets
a final crimson
watch this morning
and everything else
as my eyes slowly close
but wouldn’t that be
just so fucking
and what if tomorrow is just
a little bit
i look out the door to the gray sky
same as it is inside
when there is nothing left
and nothing matters today.
i look to the gray sky
the color has faded from this boy
dead eyes and an empty heart
and nothing matters today
i dream of the peace in draining
on top of my bed, eyes slowly close
and i feel as there is nothing left to give
i’ve never been able to see it so clearly.
a dream of over and done with
i just don’t care anymore
and it doesn’t matter who she is
i never knew her anyway.
erase forever and always
never have they made much sense to me
when the beginning of the story is nothing but a myth
the author gets to choose his own end .
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Hope. Hope is what enables me to get out of bed in the morning, when everything seems to be crumbling – or worse, when everything is the redundant horrid deep and agonizing same, every single morning. When I fight with all of my heart for someone trying to rekindle slivers of who I you know that I am but cannot remember, when I look towards the end of the means and see nothing; jaded, fooled, led into a pit of dark despair through a strange and unforgiving sense that I am now broken, that the years in the hospital beds only repaired the outside.
Who am I now? Where is the person whose passion seethed through every word written, who couldn’t live without a pen and anything to write on, whose fist came back bloodied, ripped open when the words weren’t enough and I could only loathe my reflection in the mirror of the Crow Bar because I could not hit the unknown woman swollen with child smoking and drinking and I ran to the bathroom, choosing to fight my reflection, reflection shattered with a fist of who I was then? Who was I then? The blood soaking through my glove I adored the life in the pain as I kicked my bike to life and nothing mattered but the wind and the guttural throat of my pipes as I threaded my way through the cars and was alive.
Tell me I am still the man I am supposed to be, life or death on an uncaring whim, the glory and sorrow of solitude complete, echoing inside of me, knowing the emptiness and how the world was etched upon my heart for no one else to see. I am not the answer to your pain, but if you listen closely, I will tell you things that no one else knows about life, I will sacrifice mine for yours.
I cast this crumbled life aside, I fear for the woman who perhaps sees who I was and chooses to love me. I fear for the woman I am afraid to love, but do. She will go away, just like the others. She will go away and we will both be better for it. I am damaged. This I know. I am reminded by what someone said to her about me – “Do you know that he has this and that? Do you know that he is dead already? I’m only looking out for you.” Fuck you. I am death, I am love, I am me, I am nothing, everything. I am poisoned with a life lived in full and I told her long before you ever had the chance to try to destroy me in her eyes. This is my life. In shades the pathetic warn another for lack of their own life. You seek to destroy the faint sense of happiness that I might remember. Do you realize that in your disgusting voice that you have, with your ‘good intentions’ that you have brought more death than I ever could?
I am words, I am passion, I am more than your pathetic life that needs to destroy. I love you, I pity you. Grow up and live your own life. Do not try to rescue me from me or any other. Somehow, she still loves me for now. Love is not physical; it is tainted at the very least in its truest form, and I believe that I was cursed and blessed with this poison for the sole reason of routing out those who do not know how pure it can be.
Lacking a mirror to slice my fist open in, I end this now. Sometimes that someone is so hard to find, but I love her, and I will always have me. I will not suffer you. I have fought and lived to live.