Noon, series of nothing

I tell myself you are going to the store and will have interactions with people. it is healthy and you have been trapped inside getting wasted for almost two full weeks. 

I tell myself that. then I go and make evil face so no one approaches and use the self check out. then talk to myself on the way back to the shelter of my cave. celebrating my journey into the real world and ability to pretend it wasn’t there.

take that self help and preservation of sanity. you dirty pig fucker. your plan made it somehow worse. feel the flare of sadness. embrace it. swim in it my little duckling. let it wash over you.

meh.

I have become dismissive and secluded. I know how great I am. the rest of the world is not invited to the party.

and the words keep singing but it is garbled and distant. cold medicine is not making them more distinct.

extinct? distinct? muffled mangled and marauded. measured, meandered and marqueed. 

dropped from a twenty story building into a garbage truck of former child stars and invisible friends, left to savor the sweet divisiveness of want and need

deeper than the oceans between the tectonic plates, more pressure though

if I don’t let the words sing once a day they threaten to take over. so out they fall, disarray, disaster, distaste, disagree and denounced before ever hitting the screen

meant to be discovered and dissected by future generations who will expound on their virtues as the ramen cooks and threatens to boil over

written for them and for you and for the ones lost in the way

my friends and family and casual acquaintances and bitter enemies and some I have never seen before nor will ever again

the spirits and witches and ghouls that harvest pain and give nothing in return but the most basic of head nods in acknowledgement that you existed

excommunicated from the church, stripped of all earthly titles and those in heaven as well

left to roam and dance all alone for the entirety of days

this is the epic flame out, the time when consuming is more important than producing

burning all of the fuel and oxygen and smothering itself in the vanity and disembodied resentment

rainbows and kittens and children’s smiles, it isn’t all so bad if those words can still show up

even if they have no meaning any longer. even if they are shadows. even if

even if

I saw a man get shot in the head once

it wasn’t like television, it was not a pop and drop. he remained there, upright, as his inner self poured out and his body stood stupefied by the indignity of it all

like his final torrent of thoughts became soup

my love is sick, eaten apart by her insides, I would pull out her sickness, take it into me and keep her safe from it, sheltered from the storm, dry and warm and happy

it is getting cold out finally

gonna go sit on a tree stump and let it all wash away

I need to go to the store and interact with people again. not use self check out. have a real conversation and not look evil. maybe just shop online. and wait until the delivery man goes away.

meh. maybe just sit here and pretend I do not miss you. eat the stew of words and pretend it doesn’t taste like ashes

it tastes like ashes. like the last time I kissed you and knew it was the last time I would kiss you

I cannot smell you anymore, it has all been washed away. but every now and then I get a phantom sniff, and it all comes flooding back

smells like tears and anxiety, of unhappiness and regret, of broken promises and empty words

you smell wonderful

let me smell your hair one last time, have it stuck to my newly shaven face and head

I haven’t been to a bonfire in years 

been in one for months but haven’t been to one in years

haven’t been alone with myself in a long time

haven’t been

going to sleep now, the head is spinning and it seems darker than it should for noon

it all seems darker than it should for noon, like it is really almost evening but all the clocks flash 12:00 in a constant loop so it must be midday

the power went out but i do not remember when and it has been noon for days

someone needs to do something before somebody gets hurt

not it

sweet dreams my love, see you at 12 when I wake up

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s