Thursday, April 16, 2015

Good Old Fashioned Guilt (2015)



I’ll rake my fingernails against the cold, hard uneven concrete
Just to feel something other than the ache in my joints

I’m caught staring again, through the clear bus stop glass
Watching the world slowly strangle itself with indifference

A glass globe full of fake snowflakes, all shaken to shit
But not shaken enough to see the full picture on this polaroid

I’ve been kneeling on these bruised knees all my life
I know this Catholic guilt all too well, in my splintered bones

This pleasure and pain, an obscene obligation to pull it apart
Anything that creates happiness or radiates something innately good

I feel the growling in my stomach, bubbling up with bile
While I try to drown myself in booze to quell the devil in me

The one I was taught to have by godly figures full of saints and betrayers
Bloodied knuckles and busted lips, all the penance for my sins

Being born of man, being nothing more than human
Broken and imperfect, I was started with a fault

And told to nurture the idea no one would love me besides the collective denial
Shared across all the palette, tempered with different extremes and names

Built on outdated parables and the twisted words of dead men
But all dipped in a thick veil of bullshit all the same

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Sea Foam (2015)



She’s there
On the other side of the fantasy
Smiling
Laughing
At a table with her friends
Making amazing, animated faces

She’s there
On the other side of the screen
Traveling
Swimming
Living some sort of life
That I’ve built out’ve something closer to fiction

She’s there
On the other side of this dream
Walking
Reaching
Looking back at me over her shoulder
With eyes asking me to catch up

She’s there
Just out of reach
Happy
Content
Existing without me
Never knowing my name

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Old and Dark and Stormy (2015)



Tired gaps of consciousness
Between the frothing waves of lucid denial
My hands are sore, the joints are swollen
I’m beginning to see what they’re talking about
As the age creeps up my fingers

The framed eyes staring back from the mirror
Belong to someone else, someone I should know
Quick to judge and quicker to regret
Mile markers dug in like crow’s feet
Invisible scars along the crooked mouth

She’s standing there, just beyond the door frame
Right outside the connecting world and the waking delusion
Filling a stranger’s mind with nonsense
And pushing my fingers down on lettered keys

I want my tongue drowned in something dark and warm
Before it has a chance to twist the lies from my mind
Warped as they’ve become, far-fetched and dated
No one’s walking through that door
Anymore than they’re walking through the wall
Built up around this derelict castle of pomposity

Wait for the clouds to roll in
And lay your head low, boy
Get some long, cheap sleep at the bottom of the ocean
That siren’s song will play on repeat
Singing the chorus to your wildest, most domestic dream