To Myself Somewhere Up Ahead

Wish you were here my older self
to see the things that I’ve seen
when I was you before being me
walking down the cobbled streets
leaning on the creaking memories
listening to the noises of yesterday
that tell me someone used to live here
now only echoes grow here
their shadows embrace me
like old lovers that I once knew
their faces a blur and a kiss
I wish I could say their names
but my lips drips forgetfulness
it’s my curse and my sin
walking down these windy streets
trying to put together the way for me
so we don’t trip on that rock called regret
that still follows me wherever I trod
hounding my steps
I just wish you were here with me
to keep me some company
waiting for the sun to kiss the dawn sky
letting night off the hook
and all the stars blink out
I’ll just keep walking
Until I see you again.

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What holds me

I have become me
That holds no reason
I have become you
That knows no treason
I have become them
That knows no prison

Where do the hours go
when I am absent
in your thoughts?

If only there was sense
when you and I collide
but physics conspired against us
and left nothing but debris

what fools we were in youth
now aged what bigger fools
having learned to take the same road
over and over again

maybe tomorrow will be different
like every other day
that’s the struggle
that’s my victory.

The process

let my fingers rot and fall
instead of withering my heart
crashing my soul upon this wall
so casually known as lack of inspiration

I can feel venom trickling down
each keystroke
wishing slow death
to whatever muse holds you hostage

shadow of a shadow
that hides from my sight
haunting every inch of my mind
you faceless blight

here I sit bound
by despair
with nothing to feed me
but a bowl of rage

painfully the words leave me
drops of blood that I squeeze out
for the indifferent page
ever hungry for more

It is done
I am left a husk
blown away
by the caprices of the wind

tomorrow we shall edit.

Inspired

I’m inside the box again. That fucking box. Swear to Christ, Buddha, Mohamed, fucking Cthulhu, I’m sick of it, really, sick of it. Every time it feels like I gain momentum in something, anything, I do, sooner or later I fall into its depths. Four walls, roof, ceiling. No windows, doors, no exit of any kind. I pretty much have to force my way out of this place. Pure brute force. Each. Single. Piss. And. Blood. Time. Has anyone ever considered that it’s just, well, tiring? Like, jacked-off-to-a-five-hour-Jenna-Jameson-porn-marathon tiring. Yeah. That much. It’s a goddamn effort to raise my arms, but here I am, doing so. Why? Shit…what’s plan B? Up and die? Call it quits? Oh boy, I haven’t heard that one before, no sir. Haven’t considered just laying low, wait for the end to slowly inch its way towards me, touch my heart, grip it in its cold, murdering hand and just twist. Tick. Tock. Stop. Done. C’est fini. Ah…who am I kidding? I’m too much of a chickenshit to let it all end, and besides…there’s still a stupid, stubborn, even hopeful (God knows why) bit of me that will simply prop me up on my two and, for at least another moment, get me moving. Out of the box, back to doing whatever it is I was doing before.

Until I fall in again.

Shitshitshitshit.

Once more unto the breach, ya freaks.