I am stuck in this shell that is made of many metals.
Surveying the landscape,
Looking for other metals to put onto the metals that have been there for years.
But every metal I find is of an origin that I do not know.
And then it causes me to wonder.
Do I even know how I got to be the way that I am.
How did I end up here,
With all these unfamiliar parts.
There is a clock on the back of his hand.
As time is known to do.
The seconds clicking over his skin.
Leaving cuts that will never heal.
Permanent reminders of every misstep.
Minutes slowly dragging, edging deeper.
Slicing over scabs and dried blood.
Deep thunderous knocking that rattles knuckles.
The gears twisting skin.
Forming wrinkles on fingers.
Joints rotating in painful ways.
Tarnished brass that no longer has a reflection.
Unable to see himself.
Time has not be kind,
To the man that has not been kind.
I have loved more often than I have taken full breaths.
The caverns of my heart that are left
Predating hints of depression that I ward off using the leftover vapors
from tears of pass lovers.
Hiding under the covers with others
To escape responsibility.
Which vice shall I indulge in this time?
The bottle whispers to me when I’m faced with rejection.
It seems that pouring my heart into a shot glass is too much for some women.
They don’t like it straight.
So I pretend to be uninterested on dates.
I have to create the ruse that I have someone else to fallback on.
This is exhausting.
I’ve grown use to being the vacation.
Rarely am I the destination.
Impurities trickle down my neck
As I wonder how I can hold her interest.
The bridge doesn’t easily connect.
As I breathe in her lust.
My lungs begin to fill with regret.
I miss her.
And I hate that I do.
The crevices of my intellect rust over without her.
I am nocturnal in a time when the sun never sets.
Unable to reflect because every decision is made anew.
The blueprint is hard to understand without the architect.
I wish she would just call me randomly at an obscure time.
When I’m reading just before leaving work.
Learning about how to better my life.
I wish she would just call me.
I want to say hello to her once more.
I want to greet her one more time.
I sit alone on this throne.
As the poison exhales through my pores.
Thinking about an ancient time when I could hear my heartbeat.
I use to text her poetry.
When we were in love.
And when love seemed absent.
Poetry is what I would send her.
Maybe I should have sent myself in every text.
In every text that I felt to send.
Maybe I should have sent myself.
Started my car and drove to where she was.
I often wonder if she doubted my devotion.
If she doubted that I felt for her the way I did.
If I felt like the rings of Saturn only remained in place because of her.
My best memories of my life include her.
Did my parents fail in sheltering me from harsh truths that I could not yet fathom?
Or was she simply more than I could bare.
I want another.
I love how different we are
How like stars we are
Complex with similar elements to let us know we all belong to the same existence
Walking around I take note of the differences and I acknowledge the spectrum
Taking note that we’re starting to realize that life isn’t so binary
Life isn’t So black and white
Life isn’t So wrong and right
Understanding that life is like a romance novel where you go back and read your favorite chapters
Where you remember the laughter
and the conversations and contemplation
The ones that made you a better observer.
A better listener
A better lover
A better friend
Someone who lives and breathes with compassion.
In a misguided attempt to fly without wings he fell to his doom.
Living his life based on the opinion of his peers. He made no room for himself inside his soul. Shoving and constricting. Twisting and bending to fit into the iron box that was constructed by people who didn’t even know his last name. In the day time he played video games and read research about evolution while listening to Herbie Hancock.
At night he roamed the streets while kicking over trashcans filled with his parent’s expectations. Wondering in his mind if they too, were misguided. Howling at the moon like a crazed wolf. Waking up in places unfamiliar. Next to warm bodies that held onto him like he was the last breath that they would ever need. Holding him down like vines over abandoned concrete. His soul waiting on the street sweeper to cleanse the debris.
He laid there; In a catatonic state, wondering.
“Why doesn’t anyone rescue me?”
He is use to being the one that people retreat to.
When the front line is being bombarded by arrows. When the spears strike from a distance that doesn’t allow retaliation.
He stands with his arms extended toward the chaos-
not expecting for anyone to save him.
Every time you spoke my heart grew softer.
I sat in close proximity to you.
Pretending like the wounds you caused had healed.
Like I didn’t lay awake at night picking at the scabs left by your venom.
The night went on and I smiled through the plexiglass.
Glancing over towards you hoping that we would make eye contact and that you would mouth the words telling me you were sorry.
Instead I jumped through flaming hoops with absolute precision.
Laughed and conversed more than I usually do so you wouldn’t see how much your presence affected me.
For a moment I suggested to myself that I would ask if we could talk outside.
The embarrassment I already felt from how distant we were crippled any intiative that I had.
So I sat there; eating, talking, and laughing like my world hadn’t turned grey when I heard your name uttered when you arrived.
I should have left when you got there.
Made an excuse to leave.
But I stayed, wanting to speak with you again like we use to.
Felt an ache that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Lightning stretched itself across the left side of my ribcage when you left.
And then all the pressure I felt faded away.
Just as you did.