I am bent towards my inevitable end.
I have bled, and bled, and bled, and I am still bleeding.
I am the broken hearted, the disheveled, the left-in-the-gutter trash that no one remembers to pick up or take away.
I am the rejected, the lost, the disembodied ghost of the person you wanted me to be.
And I am suffering for sins I neglected to commit, for dreams I neglected to permit myself to have, and for the regrets that litter my heart with scars I can never manage to forget or heal.
I am the disturber, the disenchanted, the home wrecker that no one ever let into their home in the first place.
I am drama, I am sadness, I am guilt.
I feel fickle, I feel stable, I feel drowned in emotions I cannot even fathom to name.
I do not feel, I cannot feel, I feel numb.
There is softness inside of me, I am cold as ice.
There is nothing I can hide from your eyes, but your eyes are blind to me.
I am the homeless child you turn away from, I am the singer that you want to be, I am the nobody that writes your life story from some high building on the tips of a silver cloud.
I cannot be myself, I cannot be someone else, I can only be this ghost, this nothingness.
There is a lull in traffic, I am caught in a whirlwind.
Somebody is holding me, tasting me, crying over my corpse.
There are no flowers where I lie; I lie in my bed asleep in my dreamless mind.
There is a shy echo in my lungs, a cough from too many cigarettes I have yet to smoke.
I can feel the cancer, the aids, the disinfectant as I rub down the scabs and the sores from the pollution of the city streets.
I smell country air, spy the country sky, but I am stuck in the lighted hollow of the damaged world.
I am the muse, the one that sat on the shoulder of the greats and sighed out the words that would change the world, yet I know nothing about politics or life or love.
Fade, black, night, dark, sad, lonely, deep in thought.
Cherished by school children who cannot run fast enough home to baked cookies; but Mother is dead now, stabbed by the Father, the Brother, the Son and the Postman.
I have ticketed my way to other countries, but they have left me unsatisfied and ill favoured.
I have read the poets, read the poems, read the highlights of the evening news, and all of them have sounded the same, no change in cadence or in events.
I have stripped naked in the nearest club, I have hob-nobbed with country gentlemen, and yet I have seen no difference in who they are, in how they live.
I have been bankrupt, I have been rich, I have been the poorest rat in the sewer, and the richest hog on the farm.
Yet money is my lifeline, or so Regis tells me.
I am chosen by some, to dine in the cart of the man who would give me the kiss of death.
I have seen God, in the faces of the people I meet, in the sizes of cities, in the converse of streets, in the simplest of smiles and the choicest of meats.
I have heard angels whisper, in lullabies, in nursery rhymes, in children’s stories, and in the death sentence of a convicted murderer.
I have felt love, I have felt death; I have felt everything and nothing at the same time as I have cheated my way past my life expectancy.
There is a row of people on the steps where I live, and each one is more different than the last.
I have seen white, I have seen black, I have seen red, brown, yellow, and I have yet to understand how they convey so much meaning, so much hate, so much rage and so much sadness.
I have held hands in the park, swung higher than the bars above my head, slid into oblivion where my fate was at the rock bottom of a yellow sunny day.
I have been swimming in the lake, the pond, the river, the ocean…and still I have not met the dolphins, the sharks, the mermaids or the talking fish.
I have been to the top of the world, and the bottom of hell, and I have wondered whether they were that different from one another.
I have been bruised, battered, mishandled, objectified, and teased.
I have been compassionate, understanding, fleeting and demanding.
I have been praised, complemented, given love, but never told “I love you!”
I have been afraid of being hated, of being alone, of being forgotten by the one I love.
I have loved you, whether you know it or not.
There have been moments of torture, of deceit, of temptation, and of sacrifice, but for you I have risked death and come out with a smile still etched upon my almost marble face.
Somewhere birds sing, dogs bark, and little fish blow bubbles, and somewhere a woman releases the sound that her lover has been pushing her to make.
There is a leak, it is not that big, not that strong, but it is there; small and ever dripping, dripping, dripping from the open wound in my heart.
I have cried, wept, wailed, and I am still tasting the salt on my lips.
I have punched, fought, tackled, and still I feel the crunch of bone, the smoothness of skin, and the wetness of blood on dirt.
I have been open, honest, and truthful. I have been closed, lied, and would not let you over my wall.
I have slit my wrists, hung myself, stood in front of a car, and jumped off a building.
I have saved a life, walked away, and said goodbye.
I have been undecided and stupid, and childish and mean.
I say many things I wish I could take back, many things that are false or that hurt others. Still I continue to say them, and I continue to close off everything I am.
I have changed, am changing, will change again.
I have dealt blows, received throws, and I am destroying myself the most.
I have bled, bled, bled, and I am bleeding even now.
I am on the way to the end now, near the light, tasting eternity with every word I write.
I am bent, broken, torn, twisted, fucked in the head.
I am all those things, all those stories, all those lies, all those truths, all those half-assed attempts at everything.
I am hate, fear, spite. I am peace, love and life.
I am human.