Winter Has Spring And So On

i've never seen as many
- broken umbrellas

scattered through the street
things meant to protect

lying at my feet
the rain came
and poured the same
as it always has

you're still nowhere
- not to be found

so the docile puddles
and the slick asphalt
have me feeling
down and caught
trapped in thoughts
of where you've gone

hey there shopkeeper
my thoughts calm

as slowly i accept
- faint breath
that you're just
at a different place
and i'm ready
to stop saving face

Actions & Reactions

i was drinking a beer at 1045am. if you're seen drinking before noon you get a look, apparently if it's before 11am you get a sneer. just a couple feet away gawking like i was some sort of second class citizen, an untouchable, was this woman. middle aged, and judging me. and what i have nothing to offer because i'm a merry, jobless, alcoholic? she doesn't know me - she can "suck it". and normally i wouldn't judge but i felt entitlement after the looks she gave me. and thing is she was wearing a vest. and there is only one thing worse than a vest: a vest with a hood. i decide i hate this woman and believe she's bitter.

just another drag-you-down middle aged bitch.
i pity the fool.

and the next day i'm in the park, cause its 50 degrees and i have an hour to kill before class. i'm drinking a beer and this little boy is riding his scooter back and fourth as his nanny eats lunch. i smile at him because he's young, and cute, and seemingly fearless. after we exchange some friendly smiles, an understanding, he comes swiftly towards me down the blacktop, and attempts a bunny hop. he fails, falls off the scooter, hits the ground and looks up at me shamefully. i smile back proudly. he had been trying to impress me.

yet again the next week i'm at Duane Reade picking up a 24oz bud-light and the black lady behind me in line says "bud-liiiiiiiight" (emphasis on light), this is by far the classiest person that has spoken to me in weeks. i'm flattered. i look bashfully back and reply that it has 1/3 the calories. she says something about taste and my age and we laugh. she educates me and i listen.

i long to tell her what a bitch the lady in the vest was to me - that they shared nothing in common.

A Gust At Sea; Above Me

you inflated my heart with the densest bliss
a tragic irony that brought me to sink
far beyond the surface of water
i wasn't sure you could get any further

just if you'd paddle out to me
underneath the lonely sea
submerged yet together, we'd want to be wetter

but you're filled with all that glorified suburban stuff
really though, how long until you make that jump?
i'm sure in that if you do you'll never find love
because shut out feelings tend to add up

An Abomination

i stopped and asked a standing body in the snow to please take my picture. i told him i was from down south, that i've never seen the snow. it was lustful, and a lie. in my defense it was a white lie, the kind that made him feel like there was a purpose to the picture taking. specifically more than the mere fact that i wanted to talk to him. i wanted that picture too. i told him my family would go berserk over the sight of me manning the snow, cause back at home i wouldn't leave the house if there was anything over a 14% chance of precipitation. i thought the picture could capture the havoc in the air while remaining still. i laughed and said all this wet snow made me feel like i was part of a window display at a department store. a lifeless abomination. but really, i was happy like a bucket full of cumulonimbus clouds, ready to burst. and i figured since eventually it will happen i'd like to have a picture of the wave right before it crashes, or something like that.

i took two steps back from him, said cheese through my grin, and he snapped the picture. he glanced down and said "perfect".

i thanked him and offered him a stick of gum, he accepted, hailed a cab, and was off.

i took his spot standing in the snow.

If I Die Before I Wake

i was laying down last night about to say my prayers - i start by doing the imaginary cross. the trinity. the father. the son. the holy spirit. my greatest religious influence happens to be Sammy Sosa, but i've always believed in the power of prayer so i continue on with the tradition. it removes me from the issues, and allows me a chance at hope.

last night though it occurred to me: might it be gravely disrespectful to lay down as a pray? and come to think of it anytime i've ever seen someone pray they're kneeling. at the edge of the bed - kneeling. in a church pew - kneeling. my stupidity rears its ugly head once again. and not before i briefly consider the fact of that matter is that i don't ask for much. usually just to ease the pain of my family/friends (i'm always real sure to make sure i use the word ease) and to dream of things that are gone. on the other hand though i've been answered at times. must be doing something right. maybe the idea of kneeling to me seems overly religious, passing my threshold as a religious being. i don't know. frankly the idea of someone walking in n me kneeling, praying frightens me. i'm almost embarrassed to say i'd be embarrassed.

now, that's embarrassing.

maybe it's okay not to kneel if you have hardwood floors, and weak knees. i mean i'm at least willing to give it a try. i think i'd find it more appropriate. maybe i should be more concerned with my corrupt thoughts (that was a joke) or lack of confirmation (that wasn't).

i'm gonna go google directions for praying.

Q:

A: whenever i see something exquisite and beautiful i'm compelled to steal if for you. yesterday it happened to be a thermos with gems encrusted on the top. the day before that it was this delicate scarf with the loveliest print. you wouldn't even want them, but they'd fit so perfectly along side you. still, i never actually run off with these things because who would i give it to? i suppose i could place it on top of your grave, beside that headstone.

A: oh don't act like you didn't know, they must have told you. it's the plot i created after the idea manifested in my head - the plot to end all the plots i'd been leaning on for comfort. or just to keep my balance so i don't fall from this into you. and i figure the grieving will stop if i give you a proper burial and an honest eulogy. i'll no longer yearn for you once you're decayed and rotten like the actions you've taken.

A: and to answer your question i did feel somewhat like Ray Kinsella, except this was a shallow grave where only you would rest with all that i bequest to you. and i didn't dig it so you would come, i dug it so you'd go. everything will be much better once you're down below.

A: of course i'm sure it wasn't dug with a time capsule in mind. what, so i could extract it all in good time and indulge myself in you? i'd end up toiling instead, repetitions of all the horseshit you've said. so, i just patted down the last heap of dirt, you will rot there and never be unearthed. unless a scavenger comes to eat the meat off your bones, to which i wouldn't object. what? the meat must be good cause you ate me alive when i fed off your lies.

A: if you resurrected i'd beat you back to death, or...stay in my room and allow you your space? okay of that i'm not sure, i haven't though that deep. no, i'm hanging up now, going back to sleep.


Aside: the arrangements have been made, we can't be saved.

SUNDAY PSY101

i'm taking this psychology class, it's a basic 101. on the second day of class my professor described how if people thought about their own mortality on a constant basis it would most likely result in depression. people asking themselves "why bother getting up today? i'm going to eventually die anyway"

it made me realize i'm in a whole other boat, even if it's sinking at the same exact rate. one where i tend to believe the life granted to me is such a rarity even with death being certain. life is the greatest gift that could possibly be bestowed upon a soul. how am i here in this body, controlling what i do? i look at myself sometimes and i just say to myself "holy shit, i'm really here". it's not my impending death that scares me, it's the likelihood of life continuing on. i have the next 80 years to fill up and i get overwhelmed just thinking about it. it becomes an ongoing preoccupation where i can't decide what i want to do. it stifles me the same way it would the pessimistic pansy who tortures himself as he repeatedly harps on the unavoidable sorrows of death.

i have no idea what i'm going to do. ever. not in a million years.

Just Like This

yeahhh, maybe tomorrow.

Strangled By An Apparition

i woke up in the middle of the night and i was crying. i was tightly clutching my own shoulder, and as i tried to release the grasp my muscles ached as the tension died away. i continued to cry for a couple seconds until i was completely still. my body and subconscious couldn't forgive my conscious mind for failing to remember the trauma, an apparent nightmare.

this all comes a couple days after i let out these little whimpers on my walk to school one morning. the weather wasn't particularly bad, and i wasn't particularly sad. but it was indisputably the sound that is produced - maybe in preparation, maybe in prevention - when someone is just about to cry. at the time it aroused questions in my mind as to where my day was going, but everything turned out fine from there on.

so i'm just angry with my subconscious. it should be following suit with the rest of me, not nudging me towards a mental breakdown.

Wilder On Ice

Dear Diary,

I finally went ahead with that laser eye surgery I had been putting off. I haven't seen a thing in two days, and my attitude towards Phil has reached disgust. Without the sight of his perfect jawline and flawless skin i remember what a dull man he is, previously i would have labeled him merely an annoyance . He has completely lost sight of his life, or rather just life.

Just to throw some salt in the wound he asked his mother to stay with us and help me out with the children. She's a wicked woman, and I've despised every ounce of her since the day she told Phil not to marry me. She cited my background. Her mother was a stateswoman for years who finally made headlines when she legalized the solicitation of sex. Her father was a pirate, but I always interpreted this as a lie she used to conceal the fact that her mother had no idea who her real father was.

Anyway her own mother bred her like a thoroughbred. In fact my favorite story is one where Mrs. Wilder was just a girl out front on their Massachusetts estate and she was playing in the garbage with some of her cousins. When her mother got wind of the situation she ran outside like the house was going to burn down behind her and she screamed "Marcy if you pick up trash like that one day in the future you'll be picked up by trash". The young Mrs. Wilder briskly turned to her mother and shot back that maybe her future was so bright she was just blinded by it sometimes, thus leading her to err. She was eight at the time. I guess her mother had known all too well about playing with garbage, and the repercussions associated with doing so.

Tonight I'm supposed to go for drinks with the girls, but I informed them I won't be dragged around like some sort of invalid just because of these hideous glasses I have to wear. However, I do intend to keep to myself especially since rumor has it the Davenports are having marital spats daily and the mister is a frequenter at the bar. I've been smitten with him since they moved to the block, and i'm going to make certain he doesn't see me in this incapable state.

Damn my lousy eyes.

XOXO
Elizabeth Wilder

I'll Wait For Your Call Next Winter

i'm watching some crap tv show and i'm waiting for you, to do what i don't know. but here i am alone, well not exactly, but you know. the type of alone that keeps you hesitating when maybe you should be rejoicing in happiness. the kind that expires during the day but catches up with you at night. it was right there waiting, it didn't move.

and sitting here with an empty bottle of wine that isn't mine, characters in a match i've yet to win. when i remember how wrong i've been. its just there was this time i packed my wine in a dollar arizona iced tea can to catch the train and a guy told me he knew something was funny. you could easily see the dark red wine caught atop the lid. i felt like a bum with baggage then who wasn't at all funny, and i still do now. yet i drunkenly ruminated with him over everything you did, and we decided it was all venial - just wish you felt the same. you could let go of the careless moments i wasn't engaged to all the good everyone thought i was.

back at home i laugh and stare up because truthfully i can't get over anything, and then no feeling comes over me, but everyone gets over me.
wish i could get it.

Bad Guys And Shallow Lies

you're a weapon of mass destruction, thing is you don't belong to me. and you're not even mass yourself. not even a matter. you simply fortify even the smallest passing slights of myself , and for that you are trouble. you're faint and you're free, which is nothing like me. i'm roped and tied and couldn't imagine moving on. you're a miscellaneous additional extra and you've calloused me. then there's the sympathy that you've guided me to toss. i should have taken the first step away days ago, while i had a leg up. now i'm like you and can't move. your god damn feelings got contagious and now i'm like you.

but you're something of substance and i can't let go.

Taboo And Witchcraft

i have been let down and devastated by the good folks who write the daily horoscopes. what is this nonsense about finding love at work? aren't horoscopes supposed to be for the layman, the men and women seated at home on their comfy couch, watching their programs, holding a salted bagel in their left hand. and on that salted bagel is vegetable cream cheese. and in their right hand is a red felt-tip pen they're using to circle help wanted ads. aren't these writers aware of the current level of unemployment!?!?!? it really puts a bad taste in my mouth at the start of the day, just a reminder of my lack of credible work. good deeds may not go unnoticed, but they always go unpaid. they think just cause they're employed everyone else stupid is. way to jump to conclusions, or did they horoscopize that too? fuck 'em. i'm calling for a complete boycott of horoscopes.

and anyway for the poor fools who find themselves employed the writers shouldn't be filling their head with fairy tales of fiery romantic encounters at work.

New Years Resolution

every damn year i of course have an overwhelming supply of confidence brought on by the outlook of a fresh new year. instead of remaining calm i lunge past the realm of reality and establish a new years resolution that is nothing shy of impossible. most of the time it probably could have only been successful if accompanied by a genetic mutation. but this year i sharpened my senses and looked to find a tangable resolution, and not necessarily a vice. actually no, not a vice at all. vices are fun, i'd hate to resolve them away. plus, there are certainly more creative ways to better oneself in celebration of the new year.

after some in depth brainstorming i narrowed it down to my favorite choice.

and the winner was: improving upon my posture.

Birth Of Wrath

i just recalled what broke the final straw, and started the free fall. it was you talking nonsense to the sky, about how better things were gonna come your way. ramblings that got me thinking now might be the time so i abruptly interrupted and told you that was me. but you weren't convinced so i was unsuccessful. and deep down i knew you'd deny it, and deeper down i knew i wasn't prepared to hear it.

i left that conversation with the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. but it was replaced with the weight of a heavy heart. one that recovered surface but not internal. one that threw the towel in, and tried to walk away without any hurt feelings left, or swept under the rug. one that told itself everything would be okay on an hourly basis, one that retired to the bathroom to weep and bellow. and it worked overtime to mask the plague it caught from you.

couple of days later i read the heart it's last rights.
things were touch and go, but it made it through.
and the religious people close to me considered it a miracle.
and to their faces i laughed and told them they had to be kidding me, but behind their backs i agreed and cried from relief.

Fleeting Justice

hot damn it was cold outside this morning. and by the time i got to school i couldn't feel my feet, but things weren't so horrible. i wore six layers, none of which seemed to do the trick. and that's fine.

anyway, i was walking eastbound when a slight misunderstanding took place on the sidewalk between myself and an older gentleman who was headed westbound. still, we were also headed directly towards each other. a couple people on the same track just going in opposite directions. but while trying to side step i went to my left, and instantaneously him to his right. then me to my right and him to his left in accord once again. this whole number went on for a couple more steps, and it hits me that we look like penguins and i start to smile. he then smiled too. we did eventually successfully avoid one another, much to my dismay. i figured the whole thing could wind up one of those charming movie scenes where everything we're holding flies up in the air and both of us just look up at it like "holy smokes", and then we finally collide and fall backwards to the ground.

well it didn't happen, but it was still nice.

The Clandestine Killed Comfort

i stand in the shower, away. the water hitting me and running down my face. it feels like the rest of my life i could stand there and not know the difference. of course you're on my mind, but it feels much better thinking about you when i'm naked. halfway there. and as the water cascades and descends i can't help but weigh the efforts of our failed relationship. it's all become the past quickly, almost overnight. but i'd rather not leave this space where beauty and heat collide and create an effect that reminds me of our early days together. when they didn't know any better, and we were just relaxing the tensions between us. all the grandiose reasons we gave for trying too hard, and making things more wonderful than we ever knew was possible. an exploratory adventure, we drained it of all it's worth and then left it. and you created the image of an overflowing willingness to heed, and i just took advantage. the fog settles my nerves and i stop thinking about us because clarity isn't the only thing available to score the happenings of all this.

i used to put names on all my failures, now i just place numbers.

Keep On

i was walking down the street getting as close to a skip as i'll allow myself. i was singing aloud with my headphones on like i'd quit my day job. an old man with a cane turned the corner at a much slower pace than he probably desired, and my happiness was radiating. he recognized the smile and rather than question me he just briskly stated as we crossed paths "you're happy". my response went unverbalized but takes one to know one.

now, this was a far cry from the days where i'd get to the city, get off the train and immediately check the time table to see that first train i could take back home. the same days where i'd wind up home at the train station and have to sleep it off in my car for a couple hours. these were the furthest things from my mind. the dark ages. i'd usually wake up sober wondering where i went wrong. and for a while i was skeptical that i'd never be as happy as i had been in the past. and i don't know how but i've finally learned that hurt is an everyday thing - but bundled with hope and respect, and maybe some courage, life is bearable all the time, and enjoyable almost as much. you can have everything and nothing all at the same time, it's the definitions that make the decisions.

and old friend used to tell me that being selfish is a good thing. in my angst i believed it to be the only thing, now i see otherwise. in being selfless i've found pounds of a better type of selfishness. it's great giving back to people and it in fact feels so good that you being to grow accustomed to the feeling, wanting to recreate it at any opportunity. it's turned into a semi-selfish motive for being selfless.

there's just one last thing i'd like to address: people have told you something along the lines of all things that are worth it in life must be attained through hard work. what a sham - i'd put money on the idea that the pioneer of this statement wasn't a very happy individual. as i've grown painstakingly slow over the past couple of years i'm beginning to truly believe that the best things come the easiest.

A Dime A Dozen

and i felt myself breathing heavy just so my ribs might touch your arm. even for that second. that was then. this isn't then. i took a couple steps back and realized what i was wagering. i decided that i must retreat and as i did i focused my attention towards the hangings on my wall. the makings of a mended portrait left here from the prior owners, and it's been here for years but the dust never seems to settle. i feel it begging with me to collapse, to let you reign and domineer this life i've tried to have. and i might be cowering but i haven't collapsed.

and i'm on the train now writing this, reflecting and the woman huddled across from me has coffee and i have nothing, and the smell is going straight to my stomach.

The Disheartening Facts For A Middle-Aged Woman

Dear Diary,
That balding fat therepist of mine continued his string of stupidity at my last session on Friday. He tells me to write Phil a letter where I "act as if nothing bad can come from it". I bet that asshole is on his fourth or fifth marriage. I don't know why I continue to go to him, I guess it's because of the close proximity to my house. Margaret told me that her therapist can read her mind. Oh gosh, if I could retain some therapy guru, he could be my confidant and together we'd solve all my foolish problems. Anyway, here's what I came up with so far...

Dear Phil,
I hate you so much, and I'm so sorry. When I'm next to you in bed I hate it. I hate looking at you and seeing you breathe. Damn I sound harsh, but I'm not meaning to. It's just things have changed so much between us, and I know I'm at least partially to blame. I always think of your sister's 40th birthday party when I sat on Linda's husband's lap, and how angry you were. I was drunk Phil. Plus I was getting rather sick of always playing second fiddle to whichever one of your receptionists was on the payroll at the time. Quite frankly I've endured a lot during all 17 years of this marriage and Phil I've finally woken up. I'm not even going to ask you to give up your insignificant affairs and short-lived relations, I know you're much too selfish. Rather, I'm giving you some notice that I will be engaging in my own escapades shortly and your involvement is not requested. And who knows Phil, maybe one day I'll be gone, and when you send for me it'll take days, and you won't like the response...

It could use some work, but it's not bad so far. I'm gonna go off to sleep now.

XOXO
Elizabeth Wilder

Silence On The Prairie

time is such a twisting burden,
as it's expanse is ever vast
and it ties my mind, however fine
to things that settle-quite like pebbles
at the bottom of a rapid stream
where you wade but aren't seen

and i'm across the widest plain
on my back feeling slain
displace the ground with ecstasy
arms up like a towering tree
getting ready to receive
a calming sensation
from the warmest breeze

then a bird comes to my shrinking view
and begins to mock my grayish hue
he flaps away towards a brighter horizon
i stare at his departure, still none the wiser

Bah Humbug!

in an attempt to save what little money i happen to come by i had made the drastic choice to spend no more than 4 dollars on food. this had reduced me to pizza, mcdonalds, and bagels. it was already a sad situation my friends, and it's only gotten sadder. now i'm almost completely dependent on freebees and the likes.

i've only been out of a job a couple days now, but it's really starting to go to my head. when i was walking to school yesterday i saw a stranded McCafe cup on the side of the road, had to be a medium, or a large. i know the small looks somewhat disproportionate and silly. although i gave the cup what i believed to be a passing glance, i instinctively noticed the monopoly game pieces still completely intact. i figured it was a rushed, environmentally unconscious slave of the workforce merely overlooking the chance at an instant win. although in these rough economic conditions the instant wins seem to be few and far between and are reminiscent of a more glorious economy. i peeled away my two game pieces to reveal a railroad and some other miscellaneous property. i tossed the cup in it's proper trash receptacle. so much for dumb luck, or rather bum luck.

High-Fives & Good Times

i quit my job, i quit drinking*, but most importantly i've quit feeling sorry for myself. recently a lot of things that in the past i've probably considered the very foundation of my essence have vanished, but now i have to reconsider - if the foundation is gone how can the structure still stand? i was mistaken, or i've built new ones over night...?

either way i feel great, and now that my schedule is cleared (that's some unemployment humor) i'll finally have the time to sit still and bask in a voluntary and purposeful life worth living. time seems to be moving at a slower pace, but in the best way. school doesn't warrant the rush that work always did, and i feel as though i've finally gotten a chance to step out of the worlds stuffiest room. as for my newly ascertainable free time i have devised a pretty sweet list of things i plan on doing, all of which seem fantastic yet were totally impossible just days ago. i'll address the money issue when it becomes just that because at this time i have developed in depth tactics to do without. none of which are illegal, no worries.

and in regards to the foundations: most things are temporary. how could i forget?



*daily, and in excess

Sigh-ence Fiction

i've been sighing a lot lately. and not just relief sighs. this is the "there's nothing else i can do" sigh. the kinds that glow of indifference, and acceptance. and sometimes sighs are overshadowed and passed over. but not these ones. for their tiny moments of existence reap my deepest emotions and extract all my negativity in exchange for pure and docile breath. these sighs are my subconscious raising the white flag and begging for a return of the prisoners of war. and presumed dead at one point their return would mark something of a marvel. but placed back in their rightful positions they can serve me once again. indeed, they were rather useless in captivity, but there is hope for them tomorrow, and for me, and for you.

sigh on troops.

A Figure Of Speech

once when i was a clever student of life i wrote the most splendid piece of poetry on how i was dependent upon your love. not much had changed in the months that followed since i produced it, and i pressed hard to overcome that little problem, but when no solution presented itself i did the only thing i knew how and gave up. but i didn't walk away with my head down, no, instead i bagged your love and sold it to my neighbor who promised to put it to good use. when he tried to talk me down i got nasty and told him i'd find another buyer. then he clamored something about the value of a buck and reluctantly bought it.

the son of a bitch then challenged me to a foot race, and without a moments hesitation i accepted. i stopped racing, but for all it's worth i think i would've won. after i dragged myself to the side of the road i sat down and waited. for what i'm not sure, but i was sad when it didn't show up. and in between all the waiting there was some longing. after hours passed i decided to start the walk home. when i arrived i went right to the couch and there i sat down. i retraced the events of the day for all the good and bad. all the love i harbored and i had sold yours. i made some coffee and sipped it slowly. i started to hum the melody of a song an old grade school teacher taught me and with that my eyes got heavy.

i died on that couch. that day. alone.
thinking about what i'd have to live without.

Here Goes Nothing

the weather is getting so cold, but i'm just beginning to heat up.

two days ago i figured out the four words that are gonna save my life:
I'm Gonna Fix It.

i asked my good friends mom when she gave up on life. she told me not up until just recently, and that i'm way too young to give up. i believed her cause in all the years i've known her i've never taken her to be a liar. at least not with me.

i figure it's like this, and correct me if i'm wrong, if you walk down the wrong path - and maybe you're not even too far down this path - but you one day realize what's going on and you say to yourself how the heck did i get this far. and you start to take a look around and you really don't like what you see. so you decide you indeed did get on the wrong path, but what comes next? you can't just be picked up by the hands of God and placed on the correct path. this is LIFE remember? you're left with one realistic, yet unpleasant choice: go back the way you came.

King Me!

Peach Flavored Yogart

yesterday i threw a carton, if that's what you call it, of activia yogurt out the window of my car and after the explosion i loved watching the extra-light orange color canvas itself over the black pavement. it really was the most beautiful thing i've seen in a while.

it turns out no one wants to hear your sadness. or even wants to see it. or acknowledge it. or try and help you through it. although my ex-bff offered me her prozac script. that HAS to count for something...anything?

and i'm a fraction of what i thought i'd be today
caught in the worst jag so i grab my keys race for the car
burning out and i was never that bright to begin with
getting ready, making progress, hands are steady
feeling my flesh burning up from the fear i torched
at the impossibility of being any more scattered
you come along and blow about the debris of me

Number 27

i was sitting on the train and as the conductor passed through the aisle he told me to smile and even went as far to make this motion with his two hands where he traced out the shape of a smile. i was just thinking about the merits of my actions as of late and what's to become of me.

i thought about my dad, and what he would think about me. i used to focus on making him posthumously proud, and for a while i believe i had it nipped in the bud. well maybe the jig is up. what i remember most about my father was his wild sense of humor and his charismatic nature. he was down to earth, and had a real grasp on the fruits of life and how to find them. before he died i'd like to think he was teaching me how to live like he did. happy and satisfied. unfortunately for the both of us he never got around to finishing up the task and so i was left to interpret and fend for myself.

my mother is a miracle and i love her, but the old man had a way of making me feel like i could conquer all of asia and most of europe in a lifetime. and anyway i left the train thinking that it's still within me, somewhere. that feeling. and if the yankees stomp out their world series opponent i might just recapture some of that valiance thats in the depths of my being.

Deliver Me From Despondency

sometimes i wish you knew the hurt that festers my soul
runs rampant and eats my desires whole
the kind that on my best day i ever had
still hallows and carves the pleasantries dry
and you wouldn't know unless it capsized your life
the aches that torment and banter through night
and to no avail you defiled me weak
for you i'm a saint yet faced with defeat

FAQ's

i saw a canvas tote bag with the inscription "i left my heart in california". how nice for that girls heart. its probably sunbathing in a bikini with a frozen cocktail at hand.

i think i left mine somewhere between stability and risk. but after high school. and not too far from now.
somewhere my heart is left sitting on a park bench holding a cardboard sign and on that sign is the handwritten note "i'm a veteran i need money for food". my heart has its eyes closed somewhere. it can't see, it's probably alone, and it definitely misses me.

"do i miss it" you all ask? and i'd love to sit back put my feet up and gush to you about how much i do. but i'm an honest person, i make an honest living, and i'd like to write an honest blog if you don't mind. so, for the record that is this blog, let me say i don't exactly miss it. i miss the heart i had back in the good ol' days, but not the one i left that's holding that sign now. not the one that's skipping beats. quite frankly i've had the passing thought that maybe i'm better off without it. can you picture that? me either so i put it down immediately and went forward.

anyway its all really irrelevant because i don't have the luxury of remembering where i left it. and even if i had it's all just speculation. that stuff about it missing me.

back home i'm beginning to let myself go and i don't care who knows it (which should be made apparent by this here blog entry). i think its fairly safe to say i've gained a couple pounds. and may gain a couple more.