CUT

No longer can I sit down

And feel strange to

Myself.

{

Today is like any day.

{

Our eyes open and it’s

Either knowing what to do

Or trying to figure

It out.

{

Only one thing is certain.

{

We dance to the rhythm of

Chaos and sing for order.

{

Love be damned.

{

Love be blessed too.

{

I’m a lover once given

The position.

{

I’ll always be Mama and Papas

Little accident

{

As I will always be the seed

Who was given a chance.

..

I think of all the hours

Which have passed.

{

These are my fragments.

{

Visions strobe

In

{

And

Out

{

My cigarette burns without a voice.

{

Retrowave plays through my computer

As always.

{

Trevor Somethings electric sound comes from

Out the speakers.

{

I have this entire garage to myself.

{

The floor is cold.

Everything is fucked up.

{

Nothing is going to be right.

{

Yet, somehow the empty body is

Arise knowing perfection is only

A dream

{

The dream is flying out to Florida

At any time and hitting Miami.

{

The dream is going anywhere at

Anytime because I’d like to see.

{

The dream is a nice home with a

Billiard table in it. As well as

A room to work in.

{

The dream....

{

I gave Orlando a small reading in

The last few minutes I had on break.

“I feel your poems are so relatable”

He commented once I finished.

{

For me it is hard to respond to such

A statement because I’m doing as I

Feel and writing as I can.

It’s good to know someone finds my

Work substantial and accessible.

It is part of my goal and to achieve

It in a tiny way is almost surreal.

{

I have no real confidence.

{

I function to the best of

My abilities.

{

Only one thing is certain.

{

Shaky hands and

Nervous body.

A commonplace

Feeling.

..

If I wasn’t so damned focused on

My work and past experience I’m

Almost sure we would have made it

Further.

{

Another day rolls into night.

{

Another night will tumble

Over into morning.

{

you will always mean something

To me

{

While I sit in the spot looking for

An exit, a proper goodbye.

{

I’m moving on

..

I think of all the hours

Which have passed.

{

I think of all the hours

Which have passed.

{

I think of all the passions

Burning within and how it can

{

Only be kept in one place until

It explodes in my face.

..

This morning offers nothing

More than the same grey

Skyline and watery

Memories.

{

Life,

Work,

Life,

Writing.

Ink as it appears.

{

As a functioning alcoholic I realize

What kind

Of fire I’m juggling in my palms.

{

My corruptions get the best of me

At times but I never act as if

They are not there.

{

I can be a bastard.

I can be a piece of shit.

I can be a combative little devil.

I can be a pervert.

I can be a shadow.

I can be a drunk moron.

I can be a destructive child.

{

My work is not gentle

But it is soothing.

{

This artist continues to work with

What’s been given.

{

By most mornings I’ll

Have to start picking

Up pieces.

{

For those with an imagination

I salute you.

{

This page only shows that

I existed at one time.

{

Our days are still dissolving

Second by second.

{

There is nothing else but to

Pursue the dream.

{

I function to the best of

My abilities.

With a chemical brain,

Black lungs,

Racing heart,

And a tough stomach.

{

The dream...

The dream…

{

Words will never be capable of

Describing what it means to me.

}

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