Everyday Everyday

A Poem by inquisitoryowl

Collection of ramblings, diary bits, things that come in and need to come out. Thoughts of an abandoned kid who isn't a kid anymore.

It's the collective degeneration of the mind; over a decade's worth of rot, sealed away and left to fester. The fermentations of open wounds and tucked-away yesterdays, like maggots, squirm through the brain, widening holes and pushing the black spots outward, building pressure as their gases condense and cry against their bone prison. It's now an inescapable, unavoidable wreck, an inflammation of the soul. A chronic, hidden disease that mutes the lips and scrapes away the insides. It's invisible until the gun is loaded and the knife is sharpened and f**k if I know how to fix it.

xxx

Burnt-out cigarettes and the marks they leave on the back of your hand describe how I feel. Watch the paper curl and burn, wither into a black shell and flake off like gray dandruff, or dead snow, another listless addition to a dusty street corner, waiting to be ground into the pavement by a pair of ignorant sneakers. Some days you're the sneakers and some days you're the ashes, but I'm usually the ashes and it's better that way.

xxx

One day you'll be slumped against the wall of a foreign apartment complex, a flask of discount rum in your hand and on your breath, and everything will sound like poetry. The sound of your lover's fist cracking the door will be your bass drum, and you'll smile up at him when he breaks through, laugh when he chokes you.

xxx

I live for the mewling kisses he leaves on the arch of my back, and his eyes connected with mine while we make love that isn't love.

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Obsession is a symptom of escapism. Anything real is a threat, the wolf in wool, something possible that can touch me, see me, me, and that is just far too scary, far too risky. Sip my latte and peer over the plastic brim into a dozen faces I'll never know, appear aloof, don't risk the shattered mystery and be revealed a naked, fragile, soft thing as vulnerable as the exposed, beating heart of a bypass patient.

xxx

Nobody loves you, your parents didn't love you, you were wanted once, by one, then you lost it, everything, you were a disappointment, not enough, a burden to a vagabond soul and a woman whose heart yearned for a man's acceptance but never a child's love. You sit detached from "family", the odd awkward thing that you are, stitching together daydreams of love and affection and chasing them constantly, constantly, until the rejection eats away at your nerves and you carve out your arms to match. You're a bundle of raw flesh, guts, shivering because you're always cold, always aching for the ghost of arms that once held you, it's never enough. Trade your pride for a body to crave you, only momentarily, only superficially, you know there's nothing in your head anyone will value, but for the night there are hands on your waist and hips and ribs and lips to kiss and a bed to sleep in that isn't yours. Weeks trickle by as opportunities for fingers and drunken conversations, "I love you" always on the tip of your tongue, tottering, threatening to spill out and ruin everything. You smile and you laugh and your heart swells and you know that he knows but he doesn't feel the same, can't and never will, never toward you, but you don't think of that because right now you're there and he's there and he wants you, even if he doesn't want you, and it's the only thing that keeps you sane.

xxx

The only beautiful thing in the end is the end.

xxx