this is old.

Tuesday

Why did you leave me alone last night?
Alone to wrestle and claw and tear myself apart.
Alone with those demons you know have gotta be there
like evil children scraping against
the bathroom door that you've locked yourself into to escape
only the one tiny window's been bricked off
tight like a tomb.

I remember you standing framed by the doorway
blacklight spilling out and surrounding you,
a warm and fuzzy ethereal halo for a perfect raving angel
so alive you suck the rest of the life out from all around you.
Soul-steling tractor beam pulling at my insanity.
The red shiny pants you were so worried about wearing look molten.
Lava guarding diamonds, tempting a theif,
beautiful and frightening at the same time, like life.
I walk home smoking cigarettes and
laughing out loud at the mushrooms, each breath like a bird.
You called me psycho when I ate six.
I eat four more. Guess you were right.

Sitting at home tranced out by System F.
The music a physical thing
you could stalk, hunt, chew on.
Sweeping over me like a wave of cats
writhing and carressing,
the deep tremulous purr rumbling like the dance floor.

The phone rings at 3am bringing me back from the dead
to a place infinately worse.
It's not you, not really anyone.
Guess no one's coming but no one ever does do they?
I shouldn't be surprised but i'm defeated none the less.
Stricken with that aching loss i keep gnawing on
like a jackal who's found a corpse to make its own.
Children rips me apart from the inside.
What a time.

Why did I eat so many? Why do I always eat that many?
Searching I guess though I know not what I'm searching.
I feel incomplete.
A hole's developed in my soul and I can't stem the bleeding.
I know the drugs will never bring it to me
but oh, those drugs.
Making that emptiness tangeable.
Amost identifiable, holding on to it.
To know it's real and seething inside of me,
trying to grow like a golem hinting at the magic words.
Brought on by willpower alone,
a revelation so fucking close to seeing and touching
but never quite grasped.

Sometimes I imagine that Something is you.
That if I could just hold onto you tight enough
and close my eyes and will it enough
that everything would be ok as long as we never parted again
like the Red Sea after Moses has walked through it to oblivion.
Sometimes I think that Something is just
you painted over it, hiding it.
That it could be anyone or anything inside you
wearing your skin and looking at me through your eyes.
Whispering at me with your tongue.

I just know I don't know.
What if you were falling through the sky
at terminal velocity towards the Earth?
Your reserve doesn't open because
someone packed it improperly.
Now do you begin to see the way I feel?
Unsung, unstrung
and holding on for dear life before
it's finally done.
The ground rushing up.
My back to the Sun.