look again
to the artificial peace
look again
to where words don’t matter
look again
to erase it all for a time
to try and find an absence
of meaning
an absence of emotion
an absence of hope
an absence of tomorrow
look again to a full bottle
and the empty bodies
try to ease this mind
this desire for understanding
in the din
of vacant noise
and blank faces
and blank minds
to go beyond feeling.

Erase any thoughts of what’s to come
look to the emptiness
of now.

A shot of Jack
a shot of Cuervo
a couple of beers…

searching for the pen
to take control of my hand
searching for so much disgust
searching to bring the pain
and as I go through
enough shit of my own
why is it that I need the pain
why is it that I can’t find in myself
right now
the emotions that are so new
the torment that I want to feel
so that I might make these words wax
poetic –
I could write about the mother
That I’ve never known
I could write about nothing
And I’m drunk in the want
Of the self pity that I’m so familiar with

The alcohol releases the pain
brings it out
so I drink hard
and I know my mistake
because in the search for the erase
I fool myself, willingly
and I find that
in a strange way
this is where I want to be.

This pain is my comfort
this pain is what I’ve always known
this pain is what I don’t want
to let go

It makes me feel so alive
in my façade
in my imitation of what
I could be.
And the alcohol doesn’t work
I pretend to try to escape in it
but I know myself better.
I know that when I am this way
that it will only bring the pen to my hand
in such profound a need
to release
and I feel such an important part
is missing.

the child.
My child,
coiled around my soul.

I would call it dead
but the pain that it brings
is the only thing at times
that reminds me that I’m alive.

This pen, this paper right now
the only sanity that I have.


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