as the darkness
lays cool upon my flesh
the quiet of the bedroom
settles politely
as the ceiling listens
patiently as i pontificate
on not feeling the words
choking me as i realize
there is nothing left
for me to say that hasn’t
been ignored at least
a dozen times
unacknowledged in
a casual glance
that sometimes
polite inquiries are
not meant to be answered
a stranger doesn’t care
how you are doing
they just need to fill
the space created in
incidental eye contact
but this isn’t a case of
awkward silence
more one of
awkward context

it was beaten into me
in quite literal terms
to feel the way i do
and i can only find ways
to combat it momentarily
so i have developed
a rather high tolerance
for being treated
as less than tangible
so often i lament my
ignorance at seeing
just how far i let it go
blaming myself because
that was what i was taught
assuming all the guilt
being consumed by anxiety
only to see
in a sudden painful shock
the only blame that was
mine was letting it happen

but the ceiling
doesn’t really listen
the ambient temperature
is chilly and the dark
is just an absence
no caring construct
or personification of nyx
the lights are off
and a madman lays lying
to himself that this too
will pass like everything
else with a new set of
shiny scars and a lttle
less dreamsand trickling
from the top bulb into
the inevitability of
the nothingness that waits
for obedient little fools
pushing boulders or
charging windmills in
the futile pursuit of
something more than this
writing words that don’t
mean a goddamned thing
shooting fireworks off
at noon and bitching about
the cost of living as the
siren approach from the east