Adjusting to Alone

She stood in line staring blankly into the head of the person in front of her. 

If I were to ask her what color hair the man in front of her had she wouldn't be able to answer. She was holding her plane ticket out in front of her. 

The woman accepting tickets seemed to mildly snap her out of her trance. 

Enough to make her realize she had been gripping her ticket so tightly it was almost crumbled in her hand. 

She forced a smile when the woman took her ticket. 

The smile was so pathetic. 

I wondered if she realized that her pain was written all over her face. 

The woman ignored it. That pleased her. 

Her loneliness was stinging her chest now. As it usually did. 

The trance seemed to be her emotional dissociation from this. 

She seemed to be unsure how to find the trance again. The pain turned to distress.  

The tears began burning behind her eyes. 

I could see her accepting that there wasn't someone at home waiting to hear her. 

To be with her. 

And maybe she was a little angry that everyone could see this. 

She didn't seem to want to be an open book today. 

She sat in her seat and immediately pulled out a notebook and pen. 

Wanting to be alone with her pen.  She scribbled beautiful words.

Her lifeline when everything was crumbling. 

The crumbling that day was adjusting to her new found loneliness. 

But she was not alone. She was surrounded. 

Lonely had never felt so public.

Sick

troubled, confused ideas

form your misconceptions

oblivious to your harsh tongue

your selfish displacement

angers and hurts me

I don't have the energy 

for the 2 people you are

It makes me sick even to write about you

Her, not me

She stares at the freckles on her arms

moving uneasily

wanting off the plane

wondering what you are doing

her that is, not me

hoping to come home to a new scenario

again her, not me

If this exists maybe I'll join her

but for now I will dissociate

she scribbles furiously

illegible

pen marks on her hands

just wanting to get all he makes her feel out

push it out

but it just builds the inevitable

she laughs and I laugh with her

she's got it bad

I'll stay away for now

It's the best way to deal

Alone for Now

Tomorrow I will be closer to us

I don't know why or how

but I will be closer

I'm quiet until us

feeling it all

doing my life

knowing it will meet with yours

craving our duprass

I'm hollow for now

smirking for now

dreaming for now

loving alone for now

Thoughts

I just feel writing pull me closer to you

gets my thoughts of you out

and makes me real

my pen won't form your name

worried it won't be able to stop

just like my thoughts of you

Death

He made me dead so long ago

and in that death I found myself

an angry, hateful version of myself

He tore me down 

and I rebuilt myself

alone in the closet of my room

the alone was what made me angry

but I was strong

and independent

I finally broke away

and it took time to heal from his words

But I eventually found me

the happy me

I felt whole again and not because I hated everything around me

but because I enjoyed the things I used to resent

Another man of his sorts found me

and I allowed him to take me back to death

and resign to the monotony of captivity

no life

just the day to day

survival

but I woke up from the coma

to a mess

but I woke up

and now I am running to anywhere but death

breathless and sometimes exhausted

but running 

I will always recover

but this time I will not relapse into death

Quiet

time is quiet today

i'm absorbing it

sipping my coffee

enjoying the warmth

quiet and peaceful

my soul calm and content

dreaming of things that will never be

staring at your bracelet in the dark

listening to your constructive criticism at my games

the taste of your affection

all things I will never have

but really want

I miss these things

because I know they should have been

my heart is quiet today

humbled and wanting

smiling through the irony

not angry

just amused at my misfortune

Oh how I wish we enjoyed each other the way I had imagined...

Sunday Morning Haiku

She's sipping coffee

Enjoying every warm gulp

She loves her coffee

pains of independence

She hates the choices she has made

no regrets

she just is tired of taking care of the aftermath

it came crumbling down on her

no one knows 

she fights these choices alone

a word she has grown to understand more and more everyday

and she's better for it

but tired 

wanting something to pick her up

but never asking for help

because that is her weakness

independence

complete and utter independence

it pains her to be unstable

not on her own two feet

she's starting over again

Down

I have never been here before

the hope after the destruction

destroyed

where do I go from here

I thought down was somewhere I'd been

ha, no

selflessly I walked to you and him

and now I know down..

Reality

she blinks her eyes 

the pain dripping down her cheek

and written on the paper at the tip of her pen

wanting death

she writes through the fog of her tears

sobbing

knowing with every stroke of the pen she's ridiculous

and next month this will all be a flicker of a memory

that's why it hurts

it was supposed to be more than this

drunk and alone

drunk and alone

only myself to blame

created something 

for no good reason

drunk and alone

was better before you

because I never wondered what if

or wished we hadn't met

the happiness I need feels so far away

even though last week it felt like the light at the end of the tunnel

drunk and alone

the new me

the new miserable me

the ache in my chest new but reminiscent

of the memories I thought you had erased

but you left your own instead

I want to write a song 

on the guitar I don't own

or know how to play

Everything I want too far away

I'll just take another drink

I'd rather be drunk and alone anyway....

My Sadistic Heart

You captivate me

I want to break into your mind

when you won't speak

despite the comfortable silence

the mixed signals

entice me to step closer

but I turn my cheek to only hold my ear close

in case you speak

and possibly let me see what is going on behind your deep brown eyes

I'm weary of your intentions

but find myself disgustingly drawn to the unknown

despite consequence

as if I have never been burned

my heart lives as if it has never been burned

and drags me along

my biggest fault

could give me my wings

or clip them

but my heart follows relentlessly 

as if having them clipped isn't a possibility

my mind has learned to justify my heart's chase

they work as a team to pull me along

I was fine before you captivated me

before your passion had me spinning

before I knew you existed

before my heart saw in you it's chance to beat again...

Like A Stone

From the outside the wood sided house had once been painted white despite it’s naked appearance. The pain of time and life made the house look as if tears, not weather, had chipped the paint away. The supports for the porch appeared unstable and left the roof at a slant. Only a few shingles remained and there were holes that shined light into the house. The shutters that had endured the life of this house hung awkwardly by a single corner or lay on the ground propped up against the house. The shutters had faded to a dark gray leaving the original color a mystery. This house was full of heartache and anyone who passed could feel the emotional warp that surrounded it.

The front door was wide open and the room on the other side appeared to be black with emptiness. The holes in the roof didn’t shine through this particular room as the exterior view anticipated. The freeway that adorned the front yard came as a later edition to the house with great disappointment to the owners. It seemed that along with the new lawn ornament came the degradation of the house. The need to destroy the hills that were once the view from the front porch brought on a subconscious destruction of the house itself. The owner, now an old man, sits in the corner of what used to be his bedroom in the shadows. He holds a book that tells of the secrets that have turned his home into what it is today. Light shines through the roof onto this book as he reads.

This book speaks of death and where he will cease to be. He gets lost in the pages day after day wanting to grasp onto where she is. The cobwebs that fill the house and the noise from the freeway are invisible to him as he longs to be with her. This book is the closest he has come to finding his way back to her and that is why he reads it every moment that he is awake and dreams of its contents when he sleeps. Over the years he has scribbled on the walls of this room. Over and over you can read:

In your house I long to be

room by room patiently

I'll wait for you here like a stone

I'll wait for you here alone

In this house that used to be his home he has become an old man obsessed with the book. He prays for his deathbed and when that day finally comes he will pray for anyone to take him to heaven. The book tells of heaven on earth and he knows that his life with her was exactly that and now he waits for his heaven in death. He remembers their evenings on the porch with the view of the bruised sky and the wine they drank with their dinner. He can still taste it on his lips and hear her laughter as if it were yesterday. She led him through every moment of his heaven on earth even when they were apart. It was the knowledge that he would see her face again that kept his soul alive. His lungs breathe and his heart pumps just as it did when she was at his side, but his soul drowns in this book without her. The hopes that the book fills his mind with are fading and he begins to believe that with that so will his breath. He feels as if he is drawing closer to her and his mortal demise. As the night creeps in, he runs his hands along the words on the wall:

In your house I long to be

room by room patiently

I'll wait for you there like a stone

I'll wait for you there alone

The tears pour hardest in the evening as if to mark another meaningless day because he did not spend it with her. The night has intruded and now he sits with his back to his corner and waits for sleep. In his dreams he will wander on until his death. Until the two souls that found each other in life can meet again.

The Man Upstairs

The man upstairs has lost his love

the blood was selfishly drained from her wrists

and left for him to find

the blood bath has him drunk day in and day out

his music blaring and bottle in his hand

he spends his days and nights alone

the bass is a reminder of his lonely heart

I just let him be

others complain because they can't sleep

I just let him be

i can feel his pain through my ceiling

behind his tear filled eyes

and hear it in his slurred words

but I don't know what to say

so I just let him be

selfishly I let him be

alone with the bottle and his ache

that has found it's way into my heart

Crazy Wonderful

I'm awake

blood is pumping through my once lifeless heart

I can't shut up

and neither will my thoughts

even with your absence 

I still feel optimistic

I can't finish this in hopes that I don't jinx the optimism

...

My passionate heart was flatlined

no signs of resuscitation 

I had accepted my defeat

and so had my passionate heart

I still survived

but with fewer colors

I was less

Sure I would never be the same

or as whole as I had once been with my passionate heart

But tonight

The moon was full

and so was I with anticipation

You...

Caged

You have pushed me so far past my limits

your half ass attempts to recover

from your ultimate disrespects

make me ill

Live in your world of perfection

and never change

never see your disgustingly selfish ways

I say what I feel and think

but you have drained me so

that I can't even look at you 

let alone have the energy

to express your disrespectful nature

every moment that it rears it's ugly head

No more!!!

Nothing will be handed to you

get off your ass

and do something about your misfortune

that is all self inflicted anyway

Stop talking to me

before I can't get a grip on the rage you have created

The only dream I ever died in

As I approached my childhood home, the wind blew my hair in my face. The bruised sky was adorned with fast moving clouds and the grass of all of the houses had grown tall and was unkept. Boards covered windows and graffiti decorated the outer walls of the houses my neighbors had lived in, but my house didn't have boards over the windows or where the door used to be. The wind was violently blowing the curtains that still hung in the windows. It was as if they were hands waving me to the house. My heart began to feel heavy as I walked through what used to be my front yard. The air was cool like before a fall storm.  I felt chills wave over my body.

As I entered I noticed that the walls had been painted black and graffiti had been written on them. The whole scene felt surreal, as if I was floating to this place. I couldn’t even figure out how I got here or what I was looking for. Something was pushing me down the hallway to my old room.

The door was still on the hinges and completely untouched by spray paint. It looked brand new. I ran my hand along the door as I entered the room. A few of my books lay on the floor. I bent down to pick one up. It looked worn and the pages were no longer a fresh white, but a dull yellow. I felt a strange connection to this book. I knew it was mine, but didn’t remember the title or if I had ever read it.

 A gust of wind came through the room almost knocking me over. With the gust, a wave of all the feelings I had ever felt here came over me. I had gone through the majority of my life in this room. The tears, the laughs, the long talks, and growing up all happened here. The air was thicker in this room than anywhere in the house.

The thunder clapped outside and the rain began to pour. I walked over to the window to watch the rain like I had done so many times before. It was funny. When I cried I could sit in this window and watch the rain and everything would be better. Today all of those feelings of pain and tears rushed over me and looking out the window made it better. It was the ultimate feeling of comfort that I hadn’t felt since I was a kid. I stood in the window for a while and took in all that was left of this place. I got lost in a different time and almost didn’t see it as it was today, but as I saw it so many years ago. The view from this window has changed so much and not just the landscape, but the naïveness that I saw the landscape with has left.

A presence in the once empty room woke me from the trance of the rain and memories that had been flooding me as I looked out the window. I turned to find a shadowy figure with it’s back to me scribbling words on my perfectly white closet door. I didn’t feel comfort or safe anymore. I had felt the depths of my life in this room and it had never phased me, but this shadow of a man left me breathless with fear. I stepped closer to the closet trying to read the words he wrote. He turned to me, faceless, and I froze. The pen he wrote with appeared to be a knife now. I couldn’t make out any features on his face, but I could feel his mocking smile as he stepped closer to me. He stabbed me repeatedly in the stomach whispering, “You did this,” over and over.  His hand was on my shoulder supporting me as I hunched over. I screamed in agonizing pain. I could feel my breath escaping my body. Each stab felt more aggressive and the black slowly started to close in on my peripheral vision until I couldn’t see anything at all.  I could still feel the tears running down my face and hear my lungs gasping for air. It was then that I realized that I had ceased. 

Changed

He drained her 

and she is changed

lifeless and broke

she keeps moving forward

with nothing

her back is facing the rain

but she is running towards the sunshine

things can't change fast enough

but she's happy

with the possibility of it one day being better

than it is today

Trouble

You have just consumed my thoughts

swallowed them whole

do I consume yours?