Honesty I

Honesty Part 1

Here all alone. The only sound is cricket drone. Want to moan. Different tones of color, not there. I just see black. Black ripped sheets over an empty bed. Felt dead. Then lived. But now dead again and again. Black ink on white paper. Give me another. Black shirt on white skin. Is there another? Haven’t seen my brother. Haven’t wanted to. Haven’t had a brother in years. A mother? None other then the one I haven’t seen neither. Haven’t had a teacher. Haven’t been taught much but still manage. Learn by myself, still manage. Make my own mistakes, still manage. Raise and lower the stakes and still manage. Want to shake hands with the Dali Lama. Happiness is the meaning of life. Happiness ends when your dead. And so it’s been said make the most. Make the moist. Make the moisture. Make the mixture. Make the mix. Mix up words. Make new. New life? Been there done that, ended it before it started. Can’t be ready if you yourself are not living. Not dead, but just not living. The same thing every evening. Cliché to ask the meaning. So I write instead of singing. Instead of being. Instead of creating something being anything wanting everything happening. It’s simple really. He was sitting on a park bench, you wouldn’t know it from the drawing. He was often a happy man, although you wouldn’t know it from his singing. He was sometimes a beautiful man, though you wouldn’t know it from his ending. No kidding. But just incase, here is my broken clock. It’s broken so much my heart stopped. No longer beats with its metronome. Now it just floats alone in my rib cage stuck. Fuck! Fuck my luck. If you’d believe in such a thing. Again and again. It changes but will still always be the same. Same as yesterday. And the day before that. And today as well as the next day. I lay on my side cause my foolish pride keeps me off my back. Want to hide cause my selfish mind doesn’t want to come back. Try to be clever cause I can't face the fact that I’m really saying nothing cause of the creativity I lack. And if you saw me now, oh, the things you’d say. Say and say and say and if religious, pray. And if merciful, stay. And if caring, convey, that I need not worry about what they might say to whom Gods they pray for my sanity to stay. And so I try as trains pass by my window each night, begging for a derailment. Trying to express some kind of sentiment. Over thinking as if these words weren’t mine, but counterfeit. It’s magnificent. Disastrous. Malevolent. Miraculous. Ok, so not really. Just more misplaced words. But it’s the thought that counts right? Telling myself “fill a page, fill a page” God damn you asshole, fill one page! The whole worlds a stage? Then who’s behind the scenes? Oh yeah, that’s right, the eye in the sky is pulling the strings. Pulling my chain. So my water drains. The chain broke so now I'm just running. And I will be till someone pops my lid and plugs me up. From then on I’d rather piss in a cup. I'm getting stuck. A little time to go.  I've probably had enough but I still got people on my mind. One in particular. Kind of spectacular. You want what you can't have and I haven’t had enough of her. Don’t want to be here anymore. About to bust out a window and walk out the door. A veritable rainbow in the day but just black at night. Is that why staying up so late feels right?