Post by anirbas on Oct 9, 2006 17:45:10 GMT -6
i.
Flesh seemingly melting
from my bones...
Marinating
in unrequited
fermentation...
Haunted ceaselessly
by a drawn out longing that slices
through me
searingly neat
as a hot knife
through
the soft
yielding
yellow flesh
of cold butter...
I fold myself
onto my bed,
into the fetal
position...
arms
wrapped
tightly
about me,
a natural
straightjacket...
Spasming,
I fitfully fall
into dreamtime...
And into your arms, not mine...
Where you lick the tears from my face...
Whispering, welcome home...
ii.
Her voice awakens me...
Slams me back to reality...
Her voice haunting me...
Taunting me...
An aurical banshee
emanating, resonating
from the tiny box
of the alarm
clock radio...
She wraps me
in ulalations
of phonic
misery...
As she
whines
and
croons...
"In the arms
of the angels..."
Reminding me,
I'm not there...
In the arms
of an angel...
What a cruel dj...
To follow up with...
"Hold on..."
Already assualted
by Sarah MacLachlan,
the day molests me
with it's very beingness...
I rise from my monastic bed
of tears and thorns, I rise
as does the bile
within me rise...
I rise, releasing
a flashflood
from my eyes,
in the doing...
Even as my
useless body,
gains it's standing
position, on it's feet...
I want to throw that god damned radio
with Ms. Sarah's lyrical essence in tow,
against the far wall of my sanctuary...
Smash them both to smithereens...
Instead, I hold on...
Open the door of my bedroom...
And step into the hallway,
littered with the shards
of the past and the present...
Wiping furiously at my face...
Impatient for the future...
And tired of waiting on it...
Unable to endure
much more,
to reach
the other
side...
Of
the
curtained box
and dreamtime...
iii.
On my hands and knees...
I navigate the ground glass,
at times...Feeling my way
with my fingertips
and senses
in the darkness
of metaphorically
bound halls...
Intuiting the land mines
of my daily routine...
Long hallways of moments
past and those to come and be...
Moments of so much pulp fiction...
Chapters flipped and soon to be flipped...
To get to the ending of many endings...
That lead to beginnings
here to fore
only near
imagined...
I never knew
how dark
lonliness
could be,
until you...
I was never
lonely, until you...
Now, I'm alone without you...
Lonely, and overflowing
with it's bitch sister...
Longing...
Acting out
and living within,
vignettes of misery...
Flesh seemingly melting
from my bones...
Marinating
in unrequited
fermentation...
Haunted ceaselessly
by a drawn out longing that slices
through me
searingly neat
as a hot knife
through
the soft
yielding
yellow flesh
of cold butter...
I fold myself
onto my bed,
into the fetal
position...
arms
wrapped
tightly
about me,
a natural
straightjacket...
Spasming,
I fitfully fall
into dreamtime...
And into your arms, not mine...
Where you lick the tears from my face...
Whispering, welcome home...
ii.
Her voice awakens me...
Slams me back to reality...
Her voice haunting me...
Taunting me...
An aurical banshee
emanating, resonating
from the tiny box
of the alarm
clock radio...
She wraps me
in ulalations
of phonic
misery...
As she
whines
and
croons...
"In the arms
of the angels..."
Reminding me,
I'm not there...
In the arms
of an angel...
What a cruel dj...
To follow up with...
"Hold on..."
Already assualted
by Sarah MacLachlan,
the day molests me
with it's very beingness...
I rise from my monastic bed
of tears and thorns, I rise
as does the bile
within me rise...
I rise, releasing
a flashflood
from my eyes,
in the doing...
Even as my
useless body,
gains it's standing
position, on it's feet...
I want to throw that god damned radio
with Ms. Sarah's lyrical essence in tow,
against the far wall of my sanctuary...
Smash them both to smithereens...
Instead, I hold on...
Open the door of my bedroom...
And step into the hallway,
littered with the shards
of the past and the present...
Wiping furiously at my face...
Impatient for the future...
And tired of waiting on it...
Unable to endure
much more,
to reach
the other
side...
Of
the
curtained box
and dreamtime...
iii.
On my hands and knees...
I navigate the ground glass,
at times...Feeling my way
with my fingertips
and senses
in the darkness
of metaphorically
bound halls...
Intuiting the land mines
of my daily routine...
Long hallways of moments
past and those to come and be...
Moments of so much pulp fiction...
Chapters flipped and soon to be flipped...
To get to the ending of many endings...
That lead to beginnings
here to fore
only near
imagined...
I never knew
how dark
lonliness
could be,
until you...
I was never
lonely, until you...
Now, I'm alone without you...
Lonely, and overflowing
with it's bitch sister...
Longing...
Acting out
and living within,
vignettes of misery...
