I do not enjoy this closed solution
These open arms like fire
A road well worn in a town well shorn
And a voice long gone raspy.
Do you try so hard
To make the wolves howl loud?
I’ve seen a tree grow straighter
Then your twisted mind
And I’m closing down
That’s holding onto me like fire.
I am sorry for the overdraft on expenses
For the withdrawal of complete funds
And exercising my options.
But I’m not.
I’m lying and it’s not a puddle of sadness.
I’m drowning and it’s not because of the waterline,
It’s a challenge and that’s just alright.
Cause Momma’s pullin in six figures
And Daddy’s got a gun
And I ain’t coming back from paradise
‘Til long after setting sun.
You don’t have to carry me;
My long lines have touched the floor
And I’ve taken all of my clothes off
To bare everything I’ve got
And you’re not one of that.
Not your wary heart
Or your passive thoughts
Or even the calloused moments
Between making love
And walking away.
This is my burden
And you don’t have to carry me.
I remember when a crow flew
Into my eyes of fear
Leaving behind a little ghost
Who spoke words I did not want to hear.
But as I sat and steeped my tea
I could not gain my truth,
So little by little
An angry cry
Was heard above the rumble.
A cry that was not for pure peace,
A cry not from a babe,
My cry was loud and deliberate
My beak’d been getting black.
For when the grace of tempest’s blast
Ceased all ’round my hearth,
I whipped into such fury as
A devil burning brightly at my feet
Two eyes locked on mine, forevermore.
Holes into nothing
And this is where I end.
Dropping as I awaken,
Say it again,
I didn’t hear you all the same.
And if I wake up
I am left to break up.
Minor chord progressions,
Like my heart,
It is the same song all the same.
Footsteps into distance
As my heart beats into resistance,
Does music still go on?
Is there an echo,
After all, it’s my memory all the same.
From lines dragging down my wrists
I observed patience in a drop,
Dripping from my pointed forefinger
That rummaged odd bits discarded into
An old tin box.
I was looking for hope,
But instead found rusty nails
That left ocre upon my calloused tip,
Long ago since numb.
Dumping the remains onto the desk, I read out loud the words
That had been etched into the underside
By an uneven hand:
BOX 05 – EVIDENCE
These words sounded hallow,
And my thoughts once again followed
My wrists lines dripping
Onto the desk where an empty cartridge
Slowly rolled back and forth.