i just need a genuine man to sing r&b to me
with his velvet honey voice pentrating every honest inch of me til i
cave into a naked mass on the
hard wood floor because i can’t help but relive the past through each
interval and chord, the smooth reverberation of recognition in
sloping vocal transitions flowing underneath my door and out into the streets.
The warming tones of a man you’ll never have to know
providing a blanket of empathetic companionship, he
grabs you into the palm of his voice and lets you sleep between what you know of hurt and what he knows of comfort
in his lines of what seems like masculine insight into the emotional twilight of deranged recess
with all intentions to progress.
soothing a crying baby with parallel phrasings of “his love is fading”
and you take his words, wrapping them around you like a blanket stringing together broken engagments
all the promised we have to’s and we should have’s and let’s do that’s
left empty
like your body, naked on your floor with your aura rolling off your shivering limbs
and fading into the speakers in the distance.
regurgitating your thoughts back into your skull
the sickening beautiful cycle of love
that will repeat, because you’ll let that velvet honey voice asphyxiate your mind with recited lines until you detach so far from life
you’ll find a numbing bliss in the manipulative tricks you’ll find in hidden between the revived empty lines in music
because they want you to stay in their stupor of lost love songs.
repeating the suffering you should
stop tormenting yourself with, but you
keep going back to them cause you
can’t get enough of them
just like that
man that left you there broken
on the floor of the bedroom where so many empty words were spoken.
lady sings the blues so well
from the smokey interior of her car
to the pain she feels when she looks at the scars
that are left on her hip where she tore out her heart strings
she
strung together to form the pulsating starry noose forever dangling in her view
garnered around her neck in a sick coronation of the kings and queens of chess pieces huddled to watch her execute her soul
she starts to see clearly as she’s suffocated by the draping grey that clings to the formation of her skin.
It seeps between the pores of her unholy baptismal creation.
last nights endeavor still permanently reeling behind her eyes
the drive in, driving and diving into her every decision .
she begins to move aside from him
and all she has to hold onto are whispered words of too young and too soon.
Tomorrow she’ll beg him to remove the history from repeating itself in pictures across her walls. Put them all in a box, post mark them as time she lost.
She sacrificed her essence as an offering, begging to be slaughtered to please the being of a boy in a fumbling generation doused in vodka and glorification of chemical fornication riddling the brains of her youth.
to only be shooed away without
an ounce of recognition until the very end of the fairytale empty story book she herself had penned with him.
No one watched with judgmental eyes, no one took any time to notice.
Hitting rocks on the bottom of some story i read about life
was more like fumbling down a shaft.
Theres no god damn light.
No holy light.
No repenting hymnal light.
Just memories of choices i thought were petty and trivial
in my view.
In my fucked up view.
But i still tried to climb,
to scale the shards that cut open my hands.
I lay there bleeding, a voice broke through the wall i thought i built up strong, barricading the repeating descent. I thought i’d get up again.
It said,
“Lay here, it’s safe. Cushioned by scars. Breathe me in, let him go.”
and with bloody hands i ripped at my skull.
“Just one more pill, one more hit.”
but why don’t you fucking see, I have a kid.
I have a son.
Polluting my lungs with a paralyzing numb thats seeps through capillaries, winds through ventricles, and tears through the muscle to consume my heart. Consume my spine, consume my brain.
Projecting my past into the world that i see, the facade stretches to innumerable lengths.
My baby’s the epitome of innocence, he’s the angel i need in all his ignorance.
He’s growing each day when he watches my light die.
And he asks “Mommy, why are your eyes always closed?”
He misses my smile and he cries.
The tears pool over the lips of his eyes.
What i’d give to kiss them from his face, but i’d just give myself away.
and
he
can never
know.
I fog my mind ‘cause looking into his grey eyes brings me to the man.
The man that helped me make him, create him. The man that promised me floating mountains with star-lit views of heaven. Wrapping me in blankets of security and kismet.
How could i bare to see the man who took not only my young heart, but my whole god damn future in his hands and drowned me into a stupor of overwhelming bliss.
The man who, when i wasn’t looking, shoved me over his hallucinated cliff into a one bedroom apartment with no windows and a crib. His memoriam card is still pinned to the fridge.
Our baby who’s growing. Learning each day,
holds onto what he sees. He thrives. How to communicate, how to emote how to read the mind of his mother but doesn’t yet understand what it means.
The son i need to survive.
But he’s in need of a mother who isn’t so focused on being deprived.
My angel sits next to me, folding the new lines of his hands over the exhausted planes of mine.
Holds them to his lips and speaks to them.
“Mommy, I love you” He says, “I miss Daddy too.”
