Tables Turned

When the reality sets in,

like the frost on my car's windshield.

It is cold, sharp,

cutting deeply like a razor.

You warm me like the sun,

rising and shinning down upon the ocean.

But just like the ocean

there is so much going on beneath the surface.

The placid is just a mask

of the turbulence below.

We can try to stay afloat

but the current of our principles carry us apart.

We keep swimming to stay above the rip tide,

but time will only drown us.

You ask me to make a selection

and in the end I make the same one as you.

I am not compromising my dreams and nature,

just as you are not.

We spend our lives preparing for specific moments.

Supernovas of perfect timing-

they complete our personal universe.

In the same token we are galaxies apart,

living in harmony off each other,

yet violently different.

It is not a lack of love,

nor a lack of care.

What we are,

deep down,

has turned the tables.

And somewhere down the road,

both of us will be unhappy

because the expectations are not reality.

Both of us will be left feeling short-changed.

We both deserve and need better than that.

Fade to Black

There are days,
and there are days.
And on some of them the past comes calling,
tugging at my coat sleeve like a little child.
Beckoning, pleading, begging for me
   to return to the place that I come from.
In those days,
those long, deep days I find no solace in the light.

There are days I roll my eyes back.
They look into my mind and into my soul
   and mark the points of the dealer.
Only then do they see the truth.
What is real and lurks beneath
   like some cold loch's monster.
I see what I am on those days
   and it is only a matter of time before I succumb.

There are days when I feel the passion rise.
A tide's swell,
bringing yearning for that action,
a junkie to the drug.
It is such a dark place but it is where I roam.
I walk in the valley
   but never see the sin because part of it is me.
It is my home
   and there are so many days the nostalgia,
   the truth,
   speak volumes to me.

Yes, one day I will return.
These are the days of my life,
the brief moment of clarity,
an open door in the light filled room
   spreading its open arms to the void of anonymity.
And then like the setting sun,
on those days,
I fade to black.

Pass Me By

Do I expect to change

   the future I have walked by?

It should come as no surprise

that as I close my eyes

you simply pass me by.

Your footsteps echo on the floorboards,

your makeup stains the porcelain counter,

little fingerprints on a shiny surface.

Somewhere in the cabinets a hair tie.

Memories of distain and brooding:

superlatives of you.

I guess I should feel lucky

   the day you pass me by.

I talk too much,

I think too hard.

You thought it was time to come home

   but you never left me to roam.

Drops of hair dye sink into my tile.

Broken like the Titanic,

shattered and splattered in a shower's watery grave.

One of the many things,

I will not miss

   on the day you pass me by.

You can find the reasons

   for why I live this way.

You can find the explanations

   for this meltdown.

But when the sun comes up tomorrow,

you will be alone,

and I will be alone smiling

   for the day I decided to pass you by.

Happy, Not

It is suicide by little increments.
Tiny, tiny increments.
Just spending all of life
   and pissing it all into the wind.
To have and to hold,
having had and having held,
like sand,
it fell all through my finger tips.

And all that is left are the bones,
ragged and white.
The wind wips and curls
   around each skeletal fibre.
It passes through,
as I passed though once,
when I had no care or thought.

I became the unhappy wench I despise.
An ironic ending.
Fitting and poetic.
People only wanted
   and I gave my heart.
Or so I thought.
But maybe not,
because when you give your heart
   you are happy.
And I am not.

I Don't Know Something

There is something in my way,
I cannot move around it.
There is a block sitting in my path,
a mountain range of impassable heights.
And so I sit and stare,
not with forboding or dispair,
the truth is I don't really care.
I don't know something...something ain't right.

I should just hop on some bus,
take my seat behind the wheel.
Become my own driver
   even though I am the passenger on the road to life.
And so I sit and contemplate,
even silently debate
the issues pertaining to my fate.
I don't know something...something ain't right.

The tombstone and the crow,
they stand tall and offer shade.
I tried to crawl into the darkness,
their shadow has always offered protection.
But in the dusk of her feather,
never lighter than the darkest heather,
I know I will fare better weather.
I don't know something...something ain't right.

I Will Survive

I just want to thank you,
you helped me shed my skin.
I was stuck in the old,
but into a new moon I move.
I am gone from the night
   into another day.
Moving from the side,
moving away.

At first I was afraid,
this stupid skin was stuck.
Caught up in a gasp,
your presence choked me
   in infatuation.
Every time you came to town,
every time you entered my realm.
Last night,
somewhere in that pint,
I lost myself and found myself.

Sometimes it takes all my strength,
holding my head up high.
And then you drop by,
the knees grow weak,
I crumble inside like I did years ago.
But this time I resist you.
Pity I stepped over,
and stopped wondering,
about you.

Hard to Believe

I wasn't cut out for this.
Not ready for a slap in the face.
Time tells me things will not be alright,
and everytime I feel like I am about to leave,
I lie to myself and believe.

I can look into your eyes,
I can see beyond the glances
   and half-hearted chances.
Shrug my shoulders
   and this cold coat falls off.
In to the sun I run,
buring up to believe.

I wonder if it would have been different.
If I think about how many times,
and how many places I've been.
I passed through them all
   with hardly a glance back.
But now I am looking at my shadow,
it haunts me to believe.

Gone, Leaving, Funny

Packing my office,
no more bowel movements to hear.
No more calling my name,
for this I shed a tear.

Tomorrow I report elsewhere
   to a future and place I do not know.
But I am secure in my absense
collective office pooping will flow.

And though I will be miles away,
these memories will last.
All the times my co-workers ate soul food,
I've never seen someone crap so fast.

It is with this heavy heart
  that I up and leave...I depart.
But I will surely come back to visit,
if only to hear our secretary fart.

But before I leave
   I must give back to this office that I have loved.
Perhaps someone will read these words,
and look at my generousity with appreciation.
For in the toilet I have left a family of turds.

My Gift

So why are you running away?
Don't you know I can see lies,
don't you know I can feel
   each gasp of bullshit breath?
You cannot hide from me,
you cannot flee.

Spinning facts like threads,
threats and thoughts you make into stories.
But behind your blue eyes
   nothing hides.
They will never get it,
not in their wildest dreams.
In the blink of an eye
   I can make it all go away
   and come to life in my mind.

If I were you,
like them,
I'd have better realize my gift.
I have your very breath,
your heartbeat,
your soul,
in my hands and on my fingertips.
So why are you running away?
You can't, so don't.

Ode to the Office Toilet

If I never hear you talking
   from the shitter ever again,
If I never am privy
   to your boisterous bathroom banter,
I think I will do just fine.
If I never have to sit,
while you are taking a shit,
and time the time
   you spend making poopy crime,
   I will be ok.

It has been two long years
   and too long years
   listening to your bowel movements
   ringing in my ears.
And then you leave,
and the evidence does not deceive,
the foul stench of your treachery.
The spritz of cinnamon and apple
   fails to cover the smell.
Glade does me no justice,
my desk is next to hell.

So please learn some consideration.
Do not come to work
   and unleash your constipation,
   both fecal and conversation.
I know more about you
   from our chats on the throne,
   the nightmares they leave make me groan.
I never asked for this,
or the damn fountain I hear when you piss.
I just want a quiet day,
not front row seats to
   where your intestines play.