The difference a Christmas makes

I have felt some of the lowest emotions of my short life in the past two weeks. This will not come as a surprise to my friends or family. Without going into details, few things worse than what have happened over the last two weeks could happen to bomb a person's life.

This is not woe-is-me. In fact, I want to speak wih hope and optimism for the future. Just over a week ago, I lost my mover and yesterday, I lost that friend. Not lost in a sense of detah, but maybe permanently lost all the same. What difference a Christmas makes.

Last Christmas I almost bought a ring, and this Christmas is driven towards a strong hatred. The hatred I have dropped, it has not been easy. I awoke this morning shaking with rage, I sat down and watched both hands shaking uncontrollably. There was only one way life could go from here, and there are less than a handful of moment spent here on the bedrock.

Ths hatred has gone, a steely resolve to move forward has taken over. The love remains, despite the events that have led to this circus. To be clear, the fult does not rest with any one individual. A multitude of failues and mistakes needed to take place for everything to come together as it did. Mistakes on my part, mistakes on her part, and that;s the nature of the beast.

We walk into commitment with our own failings as people, and we hope that we can somehow weather the storm. Sometimes the storm is too much, or it tears the roof off our houses. Sometimes the roof can be repaired, but occasionally it just gets patched up until it breaks again. It never ends.

In the end, there is only love. You can hate, and you can be betrayed. You can suffer and wallow in it. These things never overcome love, no matter how brutal they are. 

aging delivers

History broke years ago

for me

and every time I think

it is fixed

it suddenly stops working again

A coal-powered concept in a 

nuclear world.

 

How many bodies need

to bounce

off the mattress to find love?

Usually a handful,

but some of us never find love.

 

I don't think most of us are looking,

our inner child are still searching

because

they want the comfort

but the rational animal knows

something.

 

Pain and pleasure principles

so skewed nobody even uses them

to figure love out

and it's a good thing for the romantics

because we would have

given up the game

years ago.

 

Aging delivers on scars

and death

and love remains elusive.

A life of sand

A person can become your life to

the point that they are

all you ever knew.

 

The ability to walk slides out from under you

a rug over marbles over ice,

and you find yourself as a fawn dangerously

trying to find your footing in a

frozen world.

 

the left foot plants and

the right foot inches forward with caution

landing near its mark.

 

One will keep crawling in and

out

of beds to learn

what the other already knows.

 

Someone always hurts 

and the world if filled with

idiots

who don't understand much

especially about

love.

 

The something special leaves you

unceremoniously

it sneaks out the front door while you sleep

the same way it snuck in,

and it doesn't leave a note

or forwarding address,

and

even if it would have,

it's dead.

 

We are all grasping at the

sands of time

– some watch themselves get old

others try and keep love alive,

but it's all

just

sand.

love and luke-warm desperation

Desperation,

luke-warm, gnawing, a silk rope around your neck,

tugs at you for maniac moments,

pressing your inhibitions and

inability to connect

and find love or meaning.

 

Maybe it can't be found,

and the quiet desperation seeps in through

all the damp things we touch

no

matter

how much love warps us

or the lack of love creates necrosis.

 

Crawling in and out of bed,

drinking and touching and drinking,

and nobody finding what they are looking for.

 

The answer always loses to the question

when the asker is broken

weary

and too well-travelled.

 

It's a lie.

dead memory

Remember me here

or some place where life 

tends to happen more frequently than not – 

the dance of playful sexual cues on your lips

flicking off your tongue and the

desire in your eyes.

 

Remember that room where

so many passionate moments passed into existence

and carved their way

-chisel full of grey brain and blood-

into our memory.

 

Do you remember when it happened?

Eyes stretched out over the small table

surrounded by so many horrible books

and Harris

Fucking Harris

and the rest of the clowns –

how they all faded when

eyes touched and there was a plunge

but to where?

 

Somewhere lost souls dwell – 

purgatory for philosophers and other

maniacs.

 

Bring me back.

love like justice

Blame it on me,

you know I can take it,

blame it on your family and

the hand you were dealt

and the way you don't give a 

fuck

about anything.

 

Blame it on the way you have no roots

and don't know what it's like to belong

or how you pretend philanthropy is in your 

selfish bones.

 

Blame it on me,

and the way I cared,

still care,

and the way I always get back up from

every lie and let down

and you pretend not to notice

or feign ignorance.

 

Really,

blame it on me,

and make it sound like I made the first

move and the first mistake,

and any other firsts you want to put on me.

 

Put it on me, baby,

you know I can take it.

 

Blame it on the way you live in secret

with texts and accidental phone calls

and act none the wiser

because I can take it.

 

Blame it on the way I shut down

shut you out

buckled down and made myself

stronger

faster

void of the outside emotion endemic in man.

 

Blame it on anything but yourself

blame it on the little green armymen,

or the real armymen,

they can take it.

 

I will pretend to sleep it off,

work it out,

walk it off.

 

I can do those things and more,

ut justice isn't the only thing that's blind.

the suspended roof

Accusations do not fall on deaf ears,

or so adeptly

as to avoid the true intent.

 

Intention is critical for a partnership without walls

but what holds up the roof?

 

In that question lies the secret,

and moreso in that answer.

hateful engine turning

The kid gloves come off like

clothing

and my god,

what a strange hotel room with strange people

– strangers – 

and maybe they weren’t all that strange 

but so ordinary

normal

boring

military.

 

No use for gloves

wraps

tape

or anything to soften blows

always did blow at softening my words

anyhow,

and now there is that pain again

-anger flushes the face and leaves righteousness

made holy by sheer emotion

and nothing could be more divine/exciting.

 

Was I ever loved as a poet,

did you love me for my poetry?

double-edged problem,

the love doesn’t quite turn the engine like hate

and you do hate me

because I know.

idiocy of our idiocy

I have to write something smart

to replace that last idoitic waste

of space and life

and what are we actually doing

besidses throwing life and time and space at our problems

i guess we throw money

but money is human-made

-AS IF TIME ISN'T-

feel it out physics or well, 

science

feelings

irreconcible differences

or hadn't you heard?

Well,

I had heard and saw the second coming

but many more than that too

and nothing change.

 

Time is a rubber stamp

no definite moments

– a building falls, bombs burst, a baby born-

just a stream that does not always

follow the path of least

or most

resistance.

As gravity, we think it exists and

you are an absolute idiot for believing in it or disbelieving it,

take you pick you absolutel idiot.

 

Disheartening,

but we're all ignorant and don't forget it,

and I love you anyways,

but I'm an ignorant idiot too so take that for what it's worth.

Sin

We all have our addictions
Sins
A renowned ability to lesion sections of our brains
To avoid guilt or regret in the moment
And choke on it for life
Some happily ever after.

You were the brightest beauty at the Ball,
I the saint capable of heavy sin,
Dark however
Maybe an archangel with phoenix wings
Only capable of flight
And salvation
Every other weekend when my wings grew back.

Mostly,
I ran on the ground,
But occasionally,
I soared.

You rolled the dice twice
Love and snake-eyes,
But you never complained
Cursed your luck
Or mentioned it,
You walked away.

We all walk away,
Whether it’s today, next week, or when you stop inhabiting your body,
We all walk away.