haven't slept too good

i've been wearing my patience pretty thin
and the ghost in my reflection is here
the dark circles like glasses
the shaking palms
I haven't been to sleep
at all
Nary a woman feast eyes on this frown
too complicated to communicate an emotion with sound
my eyes peer up but always fall down
in the winter cold sticks
buried in the ground
the plastic nerves
will melt in time
they'll stick to the inside
like wax in dollar store candle light
I'm pacing off further and further from the point I came from
a mourning place, I mean morning place
where the sun hits my face
as erase all I've written down.

just a thought

i need to leave this place so I can feel real.

untitled (you should do it)

beating the dead horse

of its capsulated breathes,

the murky water settles on the shore

behind my back,

are sure that you are steady,

are you ready to leave,

the doctor gave me lots a money

when he medicated me.

I open my jar

and swung back my head

it's clouded reality

where I pay rent

you got a little to scrap together

before the clock hits ten

you've been contemplating

this mirage for too long.

(you should open your hands and hold out your tongue

and open yourself to be vulnerable

its the same way inside out)

turning tighter the tourniquet

my head feels lighter

the minute i sit it down

it will pour through the cracks

i won't be able save it,

the load of weight

that my cap has to cradle

is a figure of a mother with child in the forest,

a deep green shades and caresses the stars

until the light peeks through leaves 

like blinds to the noon sun 

I am streams;

I am a river with no end,

my arms reach out beneath these coverings and make a line to the pen,

the shift of my conscious

makes no reflection on my morals,

I am a dark opal, that's sinking into dark water

the weight above my head

and the weight i am I've said,

is sinking down into oblivion.

Press my lips shut

and carry this hum to the lips of  every sleeper

REM to restless in the hush of each bed room

The light taps of the rain drops on my window

sound like footsteps

running away into shade

down the fire escape into the bushes.

I rush through memories

to match the lights in front me,

faces on the inside of my eyelids

free existing memories,

my safe haven

in this world I've been born,

reforming and over examining, each thought as a  chore,

I allow my self one more,

one  more night to be like this

before the weight of reality

weighs on me more,

every talk with my grandfather

ended with this lore

saying you learn a little in this world you have a lot more to explore,

(watch me now)

the dreams have ceased,

I have thought no more 

it keeps me safe in my slumber, after I lock my door.

You need not apologize to me

if I've forgiven you before.

If I can see I do believe

that I can read what this is for.

  

I thought I'd be the remedy, the peaceful person, the go between.

The lapse conscious to put minds at ease, but instead I'm riding the rioting.

The push, the exclamation burst through stolid calm, the masturbatory stirring of heated palms,

on cold beer bottles as the night lights burned..

The conversations strung in a litany, telling rumor to concealed truth causing random epiphany.

Swallow your tongue, I try not let this get to me, but the walls of these strangers are about hit me.

Why so close to the line of fire, 

did you the purpose or should I retire

the walls are getting  closer and I'd still admire that impossible candid portrait of a group of a group of friends smiling.

The anxiety and the insecurity, when you know so many secrets and you hold them confidently.

The vault never cracked and that's what interest me.

That I shut my mouth, but others can't do that for me.

I thought these problems would cease around the first decade from infancy, but it still goes on indefinitely.

The good guy or so i think, goes down in some farce that's looks like a tragedy.

Bending head over heels to help who's in need, but thankless tasks leave in shambles - defeat.

The First

The ground is cold under slush and ice tonight, I'm inside at the moment, but my bones still ache like I was outside.  I think I need a rest, but the call of a crowd on a telephone, is going to lead me out to the bar before I go home.  I think I'm going to have another drink and claim I'm quitting it all again.  One more drink after the setting sun can only warm me deep within.  One more mile of dirty track and 3 avenues to get home after some self abuse, sometimes it's better to be a seclusive soul.  I shook my feet under the table in a puddle of mettled ice, and the glasses grazed the table top a percussive sound i like.  I think this beats being surrounded strangers these are friends I do not mind, we will drink, we will gorge till we are blind.  I should not start off any record with a list of my defeats, I rather begin summing up an allegory to stir up inner heat.  Till my heart is left burning and I have risen my seat, it is an inner dialogue I can never escape.  I've made it home into my bed, or so I hope I will be, I speak of it in a future tense, in hopes it will be real, and as pen shakes across this pad, the homeless man in the aisle sleeps.  I won't speak, he won't speak, I'll not sleep, because as my eyelids are turning black the dialogue returns.   My brains excited by this dialect it trips upon each verb, to imagine that someone actually loves me, and these words were hers.