wondering where the years turned to limits,
when our lives became maps and markers,
a series of achievements you measure in money,
marriage and your latest career rank.
my latest ideas and projects suddenly juvenile
in the glare of your adult sensibilities,
my enthusiasm an unneccessary garnish
on the cake of your well-planned life.
each ingredient carefully measured and recorded,
no surprise twists or recipe spins.
when did your dreams become his dreams,
your thoughts echoes of commercials,
measured in shiny things and diamond rings,
the right coffee table conversations
and dinner companions, sprinkled
with accumulating accounts,
built upon predictability and math.
but how do you calculate the moment of despair
when your child comes home tattered and blue,
or your spouse disappears, ruining your whole recipe?
what do you use to ease the pain,
when everyone around you is set on gain,
numbers and plans, building the same lives,
that cover up when passions die.
something about insanity
sets my spirit free
shovels away expectations,
sparks my curiosity.
the humdrum knife of routine,
silently stabs at the soul,
with Nazi-like consistency,
to-do lists, grocery trips, dirty laundry.
middle class wares,
TV stares and commercial flares,
a plague upon America,
creeping into homes,
dulling the senses,
putting price tags on love,
limits on affections,
medicating pain into apathy,
and eroding true pleasure.
hacking at desires,
twisting them into afflictions
to be cured, stuffed in a drawer
or indulged in an orgy.
but when the mind sheds the skin
of social norms,
suddenly the truth,
love and creativity,
saunter out to play.
carnal desires tumble forth,
scattered with spirits,
garnished with pure joy,
mixed with anger,
sprinkled with sadness,
dotted with ecstacy,
leaking out loneliness.
a potent concoction,
crumbled by prozac,
disapproving stares,
and manufactured desires,
sucking souls into "normalacy."
hedonistic tendencies,
wrapped up in these memories,
fighting with iron discipline,
grappling with guilt-laced liquor.
i may like you today, tomorrow, last week,
but who the fuck knows what i'll think yesterday.
what went through my mind last year or next.
can't stop my mental dance for you, baby.
twists and tumbles, sideways glances,
spun on a whim and a will,
stronger than my ties to you,
feet forced forward whether yours follow,
the tunes tumbling out with no refrain.
baby don't call me "mine" cause it can't be so,
i wouldn't dare call myself "mine,"
so i'm not fuckin yours.
so excuse me baby,
i've got a dance to do.
My soul sees no end in sight,
treading these greasy streets,
Stilettos casting shadows
in the flickering light.
Fuck, I’ve been down this road,
it ain’t pretty but it’s familiar.
Flickered ashes, well-worn walks,
passionate flesh mingling,
bathed in hard liquor,
hard like the dancers’ eyes,
empty like the bottles on table tops.
Desires careen throughout the place,
some freed from a leash,
others habits, demanding nourishment.
Souls searching, some on auto,
others out for the cash,
some for pure pleasure.
then there’s the thrill seekers.
Searching for something,
everybody’s got a fuckin story.
The villains come out to play
dancing in the moonlight,
and my soul joins in.
I wish I could go back in time, to the day we met,
you swooshing in with your sleek, black boots on,
smiling and laughing, reeling me in, word after word.
your face luscious in the cafe's candlelight glow.
your words dance around me, full of facts, social savoir-faire,
extinguishing my usual boredom from the get-go.
I sit quietly, suddenly shy-struck, unexpectedly so.
as we walk to our cars, I linger, suddenly full of questions,
not wanting the evening to end, never this intrigued.
you lean in to reply, eyes latched. time blows away
as we bathe in the full moon's beam.
our sharing of souls soon to come,tucked in with comforting convos late at night.
intellectual ecstasy flying us to the moon,
your mind so captivating, I can't let go.
who knew our dance would turn to "Othello,"
love twisting into insanity, jealousy and lust.
fear mixed with loathing, fueled by passion.
sliding into chaos. cold, critical stabs,
bouts of despair, long nights of sobbing.
cold shoulders, whispered jabs of anger,
leaving a soot of sadness in my soul,
empty tears trickling til the break of dawn.
our passions now infected with anger,
hate and revenge quickly conquering,
devastating the landscape, fear burning the fields.
billows of smoke cloud our minds, yours then mine,
they intertwine. i lose track of who is who,
pulled into your soul's chaos, trying to carry you out.
our pasts battle in a shrouded funeral veil,
covering the moon, slicing up the beam.
each haunted by memories, blinded to the present,
faithful only of a fucked up future.
you shrouded in pessimism, paralyzed by fear,
me bathed in self-loathing, confusion and despair.
your intoxicating jekyl and hyde of the soul,
oscillating between beauty, life and passion
and razor sharp spite tempered with bitterness.
i don't regret the pain, can't undo the effects.my mind still revels in the intellectual connect.
though my soul may be shattered, still rebuilding.
i sometimes wish i could go back to the day we met,
and whisper "moonbeams lie and moonbeams die."
i call myself a writer...
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