So, my sweet dream
Here we are again.
You know the words I wish I could say,
They are carved into your heart
As they are burned into my soul
Maybe is such a terrible curse.
We held each other’s eyes as though we could change the reality, we hoped and knowing the answers never mattered.
Your sweet smile was a cold fire on that forgotten landscape, clear and simple we prayed, our movements echoed through eternity as we imagined what might have been forever, what could never be one day, that anchor cut loose and we drifted away from our only chance.
If time had a pen, we would have maps and the journey would always take us home, we would dance in front of bonfires and the chanting mother’s would bless the rebirth of winter with a sacrifice freely offered and accepted by the ancient.
If, maybe, these ideas are not as hard as truth, these thoughts do not provide a loving touch.
Here we are, my sparkling sapphire.
We have limits and rules for our insanity, we have stolen the fire from the mountain and left in its place a key with no lock.
In uncertainty have these words stripped my skin from bones too old to grow.
Belief has borrowed flavors, and we taste the memories of what has never come.
Your love will decode my cypher and you will know my cruelty. I have chosen a road away from our Paradise, you will wait with no name for the return of visions lost in pieces.
I will secure the gates behind my hands, so that none will know my betrayal.
I know, and you know.
Everyone knows I’m full of shit,
Except for who knows I’m true
Everyone thinks I’m gonna quit
Except for those that know how I do
it’s a little bit inside of it, y’all don’t know what I’m trying to quit, your mind just won’t abide this shit, I’m a lot and not just a little bit
Unsure, uncured, not pure, so much wrong in my long sentence of unrepentant dependency, I try to look and I just can not begin to see, this virus inside of my brain is like John Wick come to cause pain, to exact revenge, to attack and not defend what has no worth since birth, my life was meant to be over but I have an eternal four-leaf-clover guiding my heart, I’m not creating, I’m riding this art, I don’t end because I can’t step from the start, it’s too easy I don’t care if it’s hard for the real and unmeasured, you think you’re gold but you’re not treasured, just junk rusting on the side of a highway, you go yours and I’ll go my way, don’t try to tell me or sell me your value, I don’t care and I won’t share what I can do, I get up and hot, then I get blue and too sad, I’m living through the ramifications of the bad, the dramatization of what I had and what I lost, my price paid and the cost is so damn high,
So why am I,
Why even try,
Why would I lie,
I don’t even care if you believe me,
Everything good always leaves me
And when I’m gone
Nobody’s gonna grieve me
So don’t tell me that you need me
I won’t let you come and bleed me
I don’t have anything left
So I gotta get right
my car sits motionless,
surrounded by impatience
nobody knows I’m here
My phone buzzes
Telling me that traffic is heavy, heading north on I-25, and I am surprised every time, because this is not a highway,
This is not a thirty-nine year old man, smoking another cigarette and listening to ‘World Class Rock’ on the radio,
I am not this.
I am, however, getting irritated by the intrusion of turn-signals as impatience dressed in expensive clothes and fancy cars keep changing lanes in front of me,
Don’t they know I don’t belong here?
The Lexus tries to merge into my passenger-side door and pulls away at the last second when eyes find me in a mirror, and I wonder if life will notice me too late, will reality crash into me just before seeing me here?
Can you save my heavydirtysoul? (Twenty-one Pilots)
I am sitting on a beach watching my daughter and sons play in the water, the sun shining on my tired face, as I see myself standing on the stone jetty that my brothers just jumped from, they call me to join them, but I see something in the water they don’t,
There’s a dark figure floating just under the surface of the waves, beckoning to me with a promise of the end,
It looks peaceful, calm…
We all float down here (Stephen King, It)
I’m watching her walk into the airport, and I know I mean to tell her to stay away, a scared stupid fool, and my heart begs me to run after her, go get her,
Go get Her
But I don’t. No matter how many times I see her walk away, I never go after her, and nine years later-
I am not here, thirty-nine years old and sitting in a car, smoking a cigarette and hoping the concrete dividers would pick up the pace as they crawl past me,
I’m not here, and nobody knows it, they don’t see me.
Impatience rides my bumper and hits the horn, because I am not close enough to the car in front of me.
All my life I’ve been searching for something (Foo Fighters)
She is there, looking at me, and I am lost. She is my dream, crashing into me just before I swim away, she wants me and I cannot stand how badly I want her, I can’t believe that this is happening, I was only here to say goodbye…
I wonder if life sees me, like she did. Not the image of me, not the idea of me, not the preconceived notion of what I could be or what I was…
Just me. A few flaws, a few strengths, a few laughs and a few years, anger and love and passion and desire and imagination, all packaged in disguise.
I exit the highway to my destination and I know, I am not this. I am not thirty-nine years old and working for a living, I am not a second-time college student struggling for grades, I am not a twisted soul writing poetry for internet eyes and digital hearts, I am not this.
At 6 AM, I’m full of anger.
I have nightmares, every time I sleep, I see old wounds opened and heartache in endless loops. Last night it was my sister, the night before my nephew, the night before my brother, maybe tomorrow it’ll be my mother or her sister, her mother, maybe my friend that overdosed or maybe I’ll dance with possibility, maybe I’ll see what could come, my wife losing life or my kids getting lost,
Time shows no remorse.
At 9 AM I am Mr. Professional, smiling and lying about how I’m doing, I don’t want to ruin the illusion of polite business interaction, I am paid for my demeanor, I am a billboard walking in and out of client’s offices, I am a commercial on the phone.
Those in-between moments try to trip me, song lyrics reminding me that my mind is a graveyard, my heart is a dirty whore, thoughts of death and suicide try to knock me to the floor, and then…
Once I’m out the door at 5 PM, my heart belongs to her, she of the golden hair, the stormy eyes, the only home. She asks and I try to answer, she demands and I fulfill, she worries and I soothe, this is my part of the day to make her okay. She works harder than I do, wrangling the younglings, somehow not strangling the damn things, she lives on a steady flow of stress and anxiety, she tries so hard not to let me see but I know, I hear, I see, when the stars shine you can tell they’re not airplanes, when the sun is hidden behind clouds you can still see the light, and when she’s going wrong I can see how to make it right,
At 1:30 AM I have an appointment with silent contemplation, a reservation at a table for one that wakes me to a dark and quiet room. I don’t know when it started but the time for me to remember all the broken-hearted pieces of a boy,
(He was me)
Is when she is softly laughing in her sleep, and the wildlings are tossing in their beds, this is the time for me to examine what’s in my head, or what I’ve read, to sit in bed with my cell phone lit, what is it? Why am I awake?
From waking up disturbed to exhausting my midnight energy,
I wind down.
They say time flies when you’re having fun,
It’s creeping up behind you when you’re not.
Time isn’t real but it’s a real bastard,
The waking up is the hardest part (John Mayer)