Sometimes

[izeveryboyin]

Sometimes I think there’ll never be enough alcohol to drown all these foolish fears
Sometimes I long for all the cigarettes I smoked, not caring, not needing their generous calm the way I do now
I hear those songs I had in my heart, broken like dirty compact discs, scratched vinyls
How terrifying those distorted chords sound in my bleeding ears
The staccatoed runs and crescendos tearing into my skin with their serrated blades
All the while, the unjust ghost of the past hovers overhead, laughing cruelly
The naive poems of my youth it recites taunting me
An adolescence ruined by life and circumstance.
Sometimes I beg that unforgiving ghost to tear me from my bones to watch my wasted inards spilling from my stomach, removed from its turmoil
A mess of blood and violently pink flesh
The sight would satisfy the dark and ugly portions of my soul
A lost woman who meets her absolution unknowing
Deserved of that spontaneous evisceration
Am I foul for ever having wished for something real?
Should the days and yes, even the quiet nights punish me for that foolish hopefulness?
Or am I allowed to cry out in this empty forest of broken dreams I find myself lost within?
I’ve slapped the eager hand that reaches for the future out of the judgmental air, fixed upon its fingers ugly rings of penitance
I crave the way they bruise the knuckles
The pain of reality biting at the fingernails, chipping away the shellac that hides the imperfections
My purse strings snapped under the weight of life’s ransom I carry inside
I mean to pay the universe to escape my inevitably
I mean to ask it where it keeps its back doors and fire escapes and whether it might show me through to the other side
Or if not, I mean to break its ugly fucking windows and crawl through them all one by one until their shattered glass embeds itself beneath my heart.
I am not afraid to be desperate anymore.
I invite desperation the table for tea like my dearest friend now and tell it my secrets,
And kiss its pockmarked forehead hoping to make a lover of its many secretions
To cover myself in its sebum like the blood of the lamb.
Nothing else left for us godless children
But to cling to the monsters that use us up,
Force truth from our veins
Sometimes I wish I had a god.
Then sometimes, like now, I wish I had nothing
I wish I’d never had anything at all.

[saw]

confessional and dark, yet poetic in it's disclosure.....there is obvious pain ..one hopes is ameliorated to some degree by the act of exposing this public journal...the regret is palpable,
which means you have stirred the reader