Soul Puking

I'm wanting to expunge it all
Looking to find something new
Talking to myself
Waiting for the other shoe

It feels like it’s falling apart
Or maybe just growing roots
I find myself listless
As I pull on these boots

I’m taking a walk
Finding something fresh
Worlds are colliding
While I wish that they would mesh

Taking down the pictures
Packing up the spoons
Driving down the coast
Dancing under moons

Looking for the next exit
Waiting for the chance
To hideaway in bungalows
To find solace in a glance

Maybe there’s an answer
I’m pretty sure this isn’t it
But obsession fuels my melancholy
As I beg myself to quit

Smiling through the tears
Dying as I’m waking
I’m doubled over in pain
I thought that was my heart breaking

I’m keeping it in mind
Heeding my own advice
Doing the right thing
Trying to be nice

Looking for that Lullaby

The music is like a call to freedom. Your harmonies infiltrate my mind and insist on the liberation of my heart and soul. They suggest a new chase, a new trail towards true passions, simplicity and solitude. My fears hold me back, I am afraid to be alone in the world with only my scars. As I daydream of a quest for stars I rationalize a settling and take the easy way home. If only sweet slumber could come quickly, I would be lost in dreams built on music instead of the still life nightmares built on lies. How will I find the voice of truth and reason when I am mute and empty on all topics of passion. I wish to feel again as my body goes numb to match my heart and mind. I wish to run again and dance to silent smiles. I want for the pulsing of my blood to feel like fire instead of the hot tears that stream my face. If these melodies can bring me back from my lifelessness there is hope they can ignite much more within me. Please sing me to sleep, sing me to dream.       

Trying to Forget

She kisses like she’s trying to forget the loveless-ness of the current companionship. Searching in the night and late afternoon for more than what she’s been dealt, but losing herself in it all the same. A weakness reflecting her weak heart as it dares to beat on through little romance she can eek out of him. Strangers are easier and less effort, but in strangers she finds shame, albeit little shame. If he could just wake from his success-chasing stupor maybe he would find her there running in place beside the bed just to keep up with her own dreams. Stagnant. She feels herself and her destination slip sliding away. O to run away to seaside cottages and live in sunlight and dark rooms. O to find the story hidden under the dreariness of today. O to be assured that tomorrow’s promises hold more than what she wishes. It will come full circle when she is least expecting it. For now the waiting must be made worthwhile and forgetfulness cannot be the only solution.


The information's unavailable
To the mortal man
We're working our jobs
Collect our pay
Believe we're gliding down the highway
When in fact we're slip slidin' away

What Dreams May Hold

“I think its time to go,” she said, “I think its time to go”
Down rabbit holes and coast-lined roads
“I think its time to go.”

An escape is churning on the mind
As laughter turns to pages
Pages bidding time

What makes you so special?
What makes you so nice?
The words conjure rocking
The word connotates ice

If its childhood games you want to play
This spoon sans plate will run away
I’ll raise you daylight plus recovery
Drink it up my friend, imbibe the revelry

Or rivalry if you will
Jealousy, my chosen sin
Don’t start this game with me old boy
For you will unknowingly not win

A quiet quest as most sins are
Hidden in darkness, nights without a star
I lie alone in crowded bed
The sins and squalor haunt my head

And so she calls once again
“I think its time to leave”
Away to dream of vices old and fresh
A shot of liquor, a heated touch of flesh

“I think its time to go” she shook, “I think its time to go”

The cold rocky asphalt begging for bare feet
The tiny, trapped voice calling its defeat
The wet grassy wasteland cooing at her ear
But swallowing that lump is the only thing she’ll hear

And then the rushing of her dark heart
Boiling red hot in its cage
Only a sly smirk can hide its pulsing rage

A silent secret, secret untold
For it is a mind that is slowly lost
Searching for what dreams may hold.

“The season is calling and your pictures are falling down”

I think I’m numb. The fall to the floor, gut wrenching, aspects of love are not part of my current relationship. Last night, in the dark glow of the television, I watched as Minnie Driver collapsed in her Harvard dorm room while Matt Damon said he didn’t love her. I used to be this way, I would lay listless as tears streamed down my face. I would cower in the shower, the hot water and hot tears falling together, inseparable. But now I make dinner, I do the dishes, I sweep the floor. He has a beer, plays Halo, laughs.

I am numb. I look at him with perplexity. How did we get here? Is this suburbia or just acquiescence? Because it is terribly senseless. I wish to feel again, I wish to fall on my knees and cry to the stars for answers again. I know I’ve fallen to the ground and tried to drown in my own tears for him before so why has my passionate captivation subsided for domestication?

My dreams hold no answers only hours of distraction.