Experience

 

 

& I think of that day,

The day that I met you,

How we stayed up for over 24 hours,

Passions petulantly tumbling madly

from the silken curtains of our lips,

The way a summer breeze would flow through

a window,

& I think of the adrenaline of night,

The cold chill of November 2nd,

Breath falling and puffing from our

lungs as thick, white smoke,

& the thick, white smoke of

the cigarettes we sucked into

our brains, like words, words

upon words upon words,

I have always loved words, but - I

do not think you ever knew that,

That is what made me fall in love with you

was your incredible ability to string up words

and turn them on in my mind the way

one hangs lights during the holidays,

You - you and your beautiful words...

They nearly tore me apart for good...

I remember that following morning

after you asked me to "be your girl"

and I smiled and nodded, said "sure"

and we laughed and laughed and talked

more, inhaling and exhaling lives

and stories of past lovers, failures, fears

and hopes...too bad I didn't realize until

it was too late that you didn't really hold much

hope inside of your soul

Only those empty words that you would

use to bewitch a vagabond poet like me...

We laid in the grass that morning, soft, cool

grass beneath the trees in the park, watching

that one strange, old squirrel with it's silvery

tail,

You laughed and said it had thrown a nut

at your head once,

Looking back, it should have thrown more,

You slept for a while, entangled in the web of my

limbs,

Sleeping soundly, as if you had not a care

in the world,

& I remember thinking to myself "I hope

this is the "one",

I hope he becomes my Prince Charming,

But you never did,

Merely reminded me at every turn how I

was Cinderella,

Just a beautiful person who belonged

in the ashes at night, cleaning, scrubbing,

and cooking,

Laundry and having babies was all I was going

to be good for to you,

& working full time,

Thanks for putting me in debt...

But I guess you were a lesson that had to be

learned somehow, some way,

I definitely learned you,

Learned how it feels to be devalued,

demeaned,

disillusioned,

and disappointed,

I also learned how words, on the tongues

of the empty, are just the same -

empty... 

Still Okay

Your name,
That's all it was -
flashing and vibrating
in my sweating palm
as I dried my hair,

Your name,
The thing I currently hate the most
next to the sight of your face,
& yet, there it was, just
blinking its red eye up at me,

I think I heard the slightest
crackling in the fissure you
left so blatantly smudged
upon my soul,
It was finally starting
to turn mottled magenta,
the shade of a freshly healing scar,
& you - your fucking name -
sunk the goddamn razor between its
lines and re-opened it up,
You bastard, son-of-a-bitch...

I clicked ignore,
of course,
what could I say to you
that would make me feel free?
"Hey you abusive asshole, how's life
treating ya?"
No - nothing would suffice,
No crumpled list of words
gasping for breath in my
white-knuckled fist could ever
properly describe how I feel,
Not ever...

I would love for someone
larger or stronger than you
to hoist your small frame up
into the air and then impale your face
upon their cock,

...the way you did to me...

I would love for you to feel
the pain, the shame, the fear, the
hurt, the shock, the illicit emotions
that society hushes women about when
they've been raped,

I wish you could feel it...

I wish you could feel what I feel every single
goddamn day of my life...

You tossed your G's at me,
But you are so fucking, goddamn poor
that all you have is money...
Money...and nothing else...

At least I am still loveable to
some humans, even if I am just a tad bit
broken,

I'm still okay...

Suicide Attempt of a Dear Friend

You called me tonight,
To tell me you were tired of life,
Tired of failing, tired of
flaws that seemed to encompass
your life in its entirety,
Called to tell me that you were
tired,
Well, fuck, baby, we're all tired,
We all want to take that leap
of grand gesture into the arms
of some unknown angel called
Death and have him embrace us
just as we are,
Flawed failures of a God
that loved us anyhow,
You called to tell me your
mother's phone number,
Your words so slurred and garbled
that I couldn't make it out,
& I tried, because I knew what you were really
saying to me between words and epitaphs in
your mind,
You were saying goodbye,
But so drunk and hopeless you couldn't
speak,
All I understood was mumbled
something about your mother's phone
number and sleep, sweet sleep,
the sleep we all dream of late in the night
when no one should concievably be awake,
If, for nothing else, this very reason,
We run out of songs to sing,
alcohol to drink, cigarettes to smoke
and so - we think to ourselves
"Gee, I could always kill myself."
So 1am the ambulance was called,
your name, number, address, all property
of their hands,
The magical angels in white,
Who have, hopefully, come to drag you
away, kicking and screaming to
the hospital, where they will
pump into you a new kind of plastic hope,
and no, I couldn't "not call anybody, please..."
because then your death would be on me,
don't you see?

I could never just let you go,
Not like that,
Not in pain,
We all deserve to die,
But happily, surrounded
by loved ones and friends,
old and wrinkly paper grandpa's
and grandma's - not forty-something
alcoholics who have fallen apart for years...
Not alone, not with your cats, not with your fish,
your online friends, and nothing more - The Doors
playing in the background in hopes you would fade off
into Shangri-La

Couldn't let you go - not like that...