What Was Yesterday Will Bleed Out Today

I used to have definitive tastes and definitive ideals of romanticized desires, like some bohemian utopia spinning records and drinking rum in the day time with a wander lust girl that only wanted to wander with me and me alone kind of daydream...but now...not a clue really. As a young artist I lived the idea of an artist and now I see that life is art and that all interactions and commingling is far more interesting than getting what I thought I wanted because of this illusion of what and who I am... I think I figured it out during a time of fierce desperation, a time when the person didn't matter, because nothing mattered except having someone around me to nullify the loneliness, or to use to vent pent up lusts upon. I found the strangeness of those nights more interesting than the idleness of being with the person I made myself belief I was supposed to be madly in love with...and then I didn't know what love was... reading French existential philosophers and Henry Miller at the time didn't help... and maybe now it's full circle and that simpleness seems more appealing...

I don't know if there are starting points to when life is supposed to be really taking off, really coming together. It's just whatever it is we are doing right now. I've never been capable of the long haul in anything. I feel this thing called non existence creeping up on me always, this mortality, and I feel I need to cram as much as I can into this life before it's too late. Which makes me unstable, unreliable and compulsive. But only to someone who can't deal with compulsive instability...and so far...none of them have...that all probably makes me sound horrible. The abnormality of me has been to my favour on occasion though. I seem to pique the interest of a woman now and again because of my dark passions. For a short while anyway. They all see the no-future soon enough and disappear. Most likely they think I won't hurt anyway, being the man I am, but I hurt...I f*****g hurt more than the guy you leave and go back to...'cause even when you were here I was still alone...

Reviews

[Lyn Anderson]

That last line is a killer. Stripped raw and bared soul, strewn out for the reader to see.
Now, since I am who I am I do have to mention that it should be believe instead of belief. (I made myself believe I was supposed to ...)
I am sure it was just an oversight, easy enough to miss in the re-read.

[Matching Socks]

Interesting twist on the hurt in the end there. You don't hurt for the leaving but for the loneliness even when with company. That is a pain that may never leave but you will have happy moments with odd poor girl that think she can change you. When I say "you" I don't mean "you" but the subject of the poem.
A very true and honest piece. 2007 still?

[JC]

Thanks Ana, this was within this year I believe. My internet is slow as hell but will be back to read more of your work when I can mon ami.

[Matching Socks]

Your welcome. At your leisure my friend, it will all be there... Your visits are always welcome.

[linhpham]

It is rare and perhaps painful to find such brutality in an estranged, vulnerable voice. Thanks for your well put insight~

[DrunkProcrastinator]

It took me a while to think about what to say, and even as I write these words, I'm still reflecting on what I should say. This was such an honest piece of writing, and it made me think about so many things. I felt like I was flowing with you as I read, getting lost in another life.

[JC]

I appreciate that, I really dig when someone can relate to me and I them. I'm going to check out your work tomorrow with a fresh brain. Thanks again for reading my ramble and your kind comment.