Sometimes the Positive Things Don't Matter

This is only a summary of the last few days. You spent a large portion of time out with friends drinking heavy red wine in the early evening hours. You wrote a few features for the fairly well known publication that somewhat employs you to contribute. You went to work and only had to spend about fifty percent of your time wasting energy on anything. You spent vast sums of money on food and drinks without having any concerns for the bottom line in your bank account. You came home to your clean and beautiful Victorian home. You inhaled the wonderful scent of cherry blossoms multiple times while passing underneath them in the street. You pressed the strings of the old guitar until the sweetest sounds were emanating from its steel strings. You listened to a dozen records that moved you beyond compare. You received a package in the mail from a dear friend who loves you.

And still you are as miserable as the day that you were born.

Ever So Near

Hell is a concept that exists only in your head. But I am there. With a marble heart, the view is filtered through one hideous cobweb that has been pulled over my eyes. Throughout a see-saw half decade, ceaseless documents have been discarded. Business, as usual, continues to sit on our shoulders like wiry, awful specters. It often feels like the end is dangling ever so near. Even as those words were written, something disturbing was underlining them in scarlet. The foreshadowing of finality seems a bit frightening from this six month perspective. And now we are drowning on these arctic mountains. The landslides have become our world as they are all that we have grown to know. Existing every day just to waste time does not vindicate one second of it. It’s as dull as a bludgeoning in this poorly lit auditorium. Dull and dying. Cathedral cold. It’s too hazy to tell if momentum is building or waning while continuing down this slope of vast entropy. Was this all a blackout of some variety or were the details crystal clear? The ghost has returned and it’s like a negative of some childhood picture that I don’t want to see. Losing is not the way that I envisioned our predicament to close. Finding yourself in a prolonged bottoming out is no way to spend night after excruciating night.

Despair Without a Title

History is repeating itself again, but not for us. Useless wars in the Middle East smoulder on while nature effortlessly continues to take apart entire towns. It seems like everything is in ruins. The dust of life is strewn in so many directions. There is no purpose in trying to collect it anymore. Nuisance days uncork themselves, collect steam and then collapse into long sequences of feather light discourse. Meaning? Well, there doesn’t appear to be a whole lot of it from this vantage point, only disappointment like a volcano. The taste of regret has turned the color of anger as daylight savings revolves once again. With nowhere to go, I don’t want to stare into the blue void tonight. There is no warmth in that electric glow. Oh despair, how can you be escaped?

The Killer Blow

I think that the time has finally arrived. So I will box up everything and either toss it in the street or scorch it in the fireplace. At least that way, it would produce some final fuel for the fire. There is a hospital bed waiting for me at the end of the line. I can already smell the putrid horror of the electric lit hallway. There will be women waiting there who I will dream of smashing to pieces. There will be employers who I will imagine introducing to Jack Kevorkian's line. This distaste is unsettling, but it's all too real. What can I possibly do to send it away? Internal bleeding takes a lifetime to heal. I heard that you were walking down the road with your new groom last night. Now you have a partner in status and science. It warms my heart to know that your advertisement reeled in a replacement for you cling to. I guess we both thought that you could be alone for at least a short while. You act so tough, so self-righteous, so detached, but your weakness has been clearly revealed. It makes me feel so sick to my viscera. I'm certain that this, too, pleases you tremendously. The killer blow in all of this is that you have won. In your sadistic regime, I am out cold on the broken past that you left me. There is just a void left in between us. A wide entropy in our  heads. The space in our pockets gives way to the infinite oblivion of past tense intimacies. Yes, the moment has revealed itself. I hope to never see your cruel face again.

This Flourishing Season

I wish this flourishing season would just stop. All of the anguish comes back in waves when you continue to wind me up like a toy and then let me scramble until I hit the wall again without you. My nightmare days have passed with the killing solidarity of time. Then again, one doesn't have nightmares when one doesn't sleep. Taut pain has returned to that weak spot between my shoulder blades. How I wish that there was some place to go for comfort. But none exists. There is no warmth to fall into, no feeling of anaesthesia  to acquire. The encumbrance upon my back is breaking me down. Sometimes I wish that our initials were still scrawled into the forearms of eternity. The evenings of pale light seem like paradise from here. I'm so weary, body and soul, in these cell scattered times. All of my dreams withered away blithely with the last gasp of candle smoke. Please drop this draconian display and leave what remains to languish in the rain soaked earth. I cannot take the anxiety and the misery anymore.

Until the Tide Recedes

The choir in this revolving carnival is driving me insane. The din is so loud that I can barely feel my own breathing. Exhaustion, nervous and physical, has taken me to the brink. So it's back to wine and despair, the only two things that keep me pacing through this labyrinth. One day they will bring me to non-existence, but that looks like it will take a while from here. In the darkness, there can only be light ahead, or so they say. I want to believe in it, but my songs have all been sung. It seems that my crimes, although the same as yours, are deserving of a sinister response. And what ethical highground have you been living in? There are no morals in any of this, just a set of actions and responses. Sometimes all of this dwelling on battered scenarios makes me want to spit up all of the life that I ever had and fall flat onto the cement floor in a heap of broken bones. Sometimes, the resentment and the fear turn my heart into a sodium crystallized ornament. And I am up to my knees in water. Buckets of runoff have filled my body up like poison. The threshold, however, is just around the corner. Patience is evaporating and the tide must continue downstream. Let it go.

Zero Gravity in Bed

It's a long way up and a short way down. This statement is certainly the truth. 11:00 p.m. comes and goes like a worm in the forehead. Serenity, what is it exactly? There has been no peace since the beginning of time. Sleep or lack thereof obviously reflects this much. Well, some people work to live and others live to work. Could this be the maxim that disintegrates us all in the end? You know that feeling so well as it hits close to home, the one where you are dog tired from follicle to nail, but cannot slumber. You try to count merits or regrets, but nothing seems to bring you rest. The big sleep is near. It is woven into the pillow where your cheeks fall into a heap of exhaustion.  It's just the wind rapping at the window, but  jesus christ, is sounds like a tornado from the confines of your neurotic skull. Try to craft something less sinister this time. It could very well be worth all of the trouble that took you down without asking one question.

Spring Proclamation

Suddenly, the future has opened up like a crystal ball. My head is swimming so fast, I feel that it is going to explode. I haven't felt this alive in what seems years. Maybe that eight ball was correct all along? Love, in showering optimism has fallen upon my doorstep. The guilt and the pain and the doubts have drained away. When you walked in the door the other day, my heart about stopped. Enormous waves of gilded love returned to me as your heart reminded me that this is where I want to be. I fall dizzy in my banal daily routine. I can't think straight or sleep without you near me.

When will you return? I feel it in cascades, love for you that is, brimming from every pore in my thin body. Let me give you my life, the way that we were meant to be. Let this be a promise in writing: I will make it all up to you.

Waiting for the Sandstorm to Abate

I have got anxiety from the inside of my ears down to my Achilles ankles. Each severed nerve oscillates in waves of dismay like the hum of kitchen appliances. In ceaseless apostasy, I have taken what I can and then run for my life. Only safer ground never quite appears to be what it is seems from a distance. I can't believe now that I had faith in autumn mutiny and I cannot believe that you had such a threadbare dedication when the sky cracked like the plaster walls in our home. How could I lose the plot so entirely? How could a grown woman be certainly uncertain? What a way to let history destroy itself. You put your cards on principles, not on reality. I put mine on idiotic doubts where the green grass was in fact black. It's incredible how the pyrimids dissolved with just a few drops of rain. Back on this plane, it's self destruction by the truckload. In fact, there is rarely a time when I can't use a drink. Haze surrounds us like the aftermath of an atomic bomb. The sandstorm is all in our eyes awaiting the moment when a clearing will arrive. Now the bar is low and the stakes are blown away. It's all come down to a futile existence. I've been searching for you in my sleep and at the wheel like a fool. Only the cold light of your wall of China pride can be found. Yet we see it in our heads and we feel the pulse in our wrists. There will be another day for us. This is written in capital letters on the wall.