What you really need

Bottles of pills fall from the sky

they look like Texas sized hail

each one comes with a promise and a warning

in some cases several

it’s a pretty thought to cancel the warnings and embrace the promise

I promise to ease your pain

I promise to lift your anxiety

everyone loves a restorative

even when the sky isn’t blue it holds faith

like a confident lover

the birds don’t know our fitful human world

they only understand song and flight

you’d like to be without gravity

it’s a small price to pay

looking at your life from up high

we treasure absurdities

then something happens to shift delusion

for what do you need of things?

when what you really need

is found in the wielding air

Addict

I am an addict

an addict who

never takes too much

nevertheless I am addicted

in ways that are unproven or run

thin white scars shiny and tight

like crossed legs try not to uncross

I am addicted to you

I am addicted to the feeling

of being high

it’s easy when you feel like you’re dying

to reach for a bottle, a pipe, a rolled paper, anything

to take away the crime

of hurting without cause

or so it appears

to the callous world who say

get a grip for fucks sake

you are pathetic

oh yes you feel you are

lying beneath them after swallowing too much

of their blow back

see, we’re two different species

the addict and the non addicted

the latter wake up and see

they are not nailed to a cross

their fingers are not blistered and torn

rent by iron and blood

stretching in the morning sun

going for a jog

balance over balance over balance

supple minds malleable bodies

for the addict who plunges

into abyss there is nothing powerful enough to resist

everything

take a pin stab yourself

if it helps do it again

take a person cut your neck

if it helps do it again

take a lover, slice them in two

keep the half that won’t leave you

the addict only knows how to chase

the feeling of relief

blinded by the agony

of seeing

themselves without skin

The unhealed

image1-3-1-e1453751898625

If you opened me up

maybe with a zip or a crow bar

it is my belief inside I would be

eighty percent water from the sea

and twenty percent ghosts

who upon being freed

would walk away and let me be

so when I look longingly

at your scalpel or your blade

it is not because I wish to meet my maker

not yet anyway

but the irresistible urge to be freed

of these ghosts who pinch and knead

even if you fitted a zip dear sir

or inserted a pipe to let the smoke pour

anything would be preferable to this canker

an ulcer of lament forming malcontent

they weigh a lot for emotions past tense

no matter how hard I try they gain the upper hand

that’s what happens when your body is a grave yard

for souls who ripped you apart

you carry your history like a series of scars

nobody can see, they think you’re doing well

underneath your sequins it’s a bloody hell

sometimes I wish you could see how I feel

the cavernous maw of the unhealed

they don’t let go of my throat with their squeeze

when people jump I’m not surprised

who can live with such unease?

the ghosts inside us, reminding we’re never free

until we vanquish their poison

so give me some mercy

let them out

I would like to fly

but I have lost the ability to float

The loveliness of her

girlCoffee percolates

hot gurgle to wake the fog

her long limbs against purple

her abundant hair tracing to her waist

she stirs

I see

in that very little time

the reason we are

slaves