3am Musings

A bed that sweats cold around you
Creatures scratching at every orifice of the darkened room
A roaring in the distance draws dragons and disaster in your head
Maybe one day you will laugh at this
and the hollows of your eyes will fade
to crescent moons in the pale of your face

Or maybe you will weep
Tear the hair from its fading bed
and clutch at times fabric
with salty chapped hands

Or perhaps you will get stuck
staring at a wall

Sometimes She Burns Me

Sometimes she is in your face
all the blazing color and heat
of a faraway star

Sometimes she burns too exuberantly
I warn her that she will soon fade
as I watch her
give all her heat away

Sometimes she is sleeping ash
pale and fragile and
I dare not disturb her
with a breath of gentle encouragement
lest her pieces scatter

Sometimes she is slow and black as mud
She reaches out like an ancient mammoth in a tar pit
I fear she may pull me into that thick suffocation with her

Sometimes she is next to me
Pale and childlike
needing my ear to steady her

Sometimes months pass of no consequence
I do not worry about her

Sometimes I miss being needed
and scold myself

Sometimes she speaks in rhyme and song
and her jokes go on just a little too long
Her eyes are too wide her lipstick too red
I fear being swallowed by that smile but
she dances just out of reach

Sometimes a shooting star crosses my path
and I wish for her eternal sun

Diary Entry 2/4

The start of suffering. The suffocating rising panic. The heartache too heavy to bear. My face distorted in the mirror. Touch burns fingerprints on my raw skin. A longing for that which is lost. Lost. You are no longer. No longer here to wrap my wounds in healing white bandages of comfort. My heavy head leans into a missing shoulder. My back arches for a warmth that has disappeared. I face this dark narrow hallway alone. Reaching for a hand that is too far to reach. My hand falls through decades of pain. It returns to my side empty and cold.

Diary Entry 2/2

How did you get footprints on the walls?
Was it while I was sleeping?
Did gravity turn like a rubix cube, leaving me behind?
No one must ever find out. The awfulness within.
If only we could shed our skin.
Hardened bitter scales traded in for vulnerable soft new beginnings.
I’m scared.
I’m separate.
I’m alone.
Paranoia sticks it’s foot in the door. Something wants me to give up.
Dizzy with mental torture.

I wish I could cry.

No, Nurse.

Are you ok?
No.
But there is fucking nothing
anyone can do
So just don’t ask me.

You don’t want
to hear anything
other than yes.
I am just a job to you.
A checkbox.
A piece of paper.

You draw me in
with caring eyes.
But I am discarded
as soon as I walk
out that door.

I disappoint you
with my repeating tears
of torment.
Just a face
in a sea of nutcases.

Your hugs are only skin deep.
My embrace
leaves part of me behind.

Existence Is Too Loud

I can’t stand this sensation.

Every hair a needle, bugs crawling,
zapping me all over.
Pain in my head like brain freeze, zero to suicide every hour.
Graphic images flashing through my head,
urges that scare me with shocks shooting though my heart.
Jaw aching from biting back anger and tears. Lump in my throat choking me,
a bitter taste burning my mouth.
Pain racing through my hands and feet.
The constant holding back of hateful outbursts
and panic attacks. Disgusted with myself,
the feel of my hair across my face, the clothes against my skin,
repulses me. A desperate cold in my chest.
Flushes of heat have me tearing at my clothes, convinced I am being burnt
or fearing I will pass out. The fear is back, the guilt, the self-loathing.
Faces loom over me, distorted judging stares, whispers behind hands,
people on the wrong end of the binoculars.
Acid trickles down my back
as shadows creep up behind me, frightening forms in the dark.

His Checkered Shirt

It had slipped behind the couch in a long forgotten passion. Crumpled into a corner of cat hair and superfluous cigarette papers. She came across it while vacuuming the past out of the carpet, a punishment, a penance, a relief. As the vacuum squealed and choked on its greedy meal she rushed to the shirts rescue, drawing it slowly from the machines throat like a magicians never ending scarf.

She gathered the crumpled shirt into a ball, meaning to add it to the ordered pile by the door, but the familiar feel of the fabric, softened by wear, caused her to hesitate. Guiltily darting into the half emptied wardrobe, she daringly pressing her nose and mouth into the folds. A bold attack of scent and memory flew through her and she stifled an animal cry.

This Chocolate Cake Is Too Rich

Heartache, it is an acid permeating throughout my body with each beat.
Fighting to rise in my tight throat,
an ache in my hands and feet.

Tears wait just below the surface, in between lives is a strange place to be.
Missing something that no longer exists
is easier than being cut off from the source of enrichment.
I find myself caged by my own bitter mistakes, desperately reaching through the cold bars for what used to be sustenance. I am left,
to slowly starve the loss from my bones.