Only in the Night

Though under the stars I am content,

The headache has come day after day.

I take more pills to ease the tension.

I’ve lost count of how long,

How long the pain has been present.

Only in the night does it subside.

 

I daydream at night, preventing my sleep.

Something must be done to stop this,

But I cannot let go – I love the daydreams.

This structure supports these frail legs.

It does not seem like fantasy to me.

Please let there be daydreams at night.

 

My fingers have moved from the ivory keys

To the metal strings on the fretless neck.

The cello overpowers all other instruments –

One I’ve never played over the many I have.

Perhaps it is time to enter song once more.

But only in the night do I desire this.

 

Loneliness creeps deep down into my stomach,

But my mind doesn’t want anyone around.

I enjoy this solitude, this dream that I live in.

Everything else stands second to this.

Why must people prefer the sun over stars?

The moon is the one who is seen night and day.

 

I feel the warmth of his hand upon my cheek,

Even though I have never truly known his touch.

How can one feel such connection, such devastation

If dreams are nothing more than images?

Comfort and happiness do visit on occasion,

But only in the quiet of the night.

 

Beneath the sun I feel dark and alone.

Romance is ever absent in the light.

For that I have only myself to blame.

Dreams may strengthen and encourage me

Yet they prevent motion forward, prevent life.

These maddening circles calm down in the night.

 

Dreams give me power – how could one let that go?

Real love is saved for my mind in the night.

Yet these little white pills and these little blue pills

Are all that prevent my daytime pain.

Everything my soul needs and desires is provided –

But only in the night.

Mist

Long ago I felt Mist upon my cheek.

Mist lovingly caressed me while we danced.

From far away it came, telling me of distant lands.

Colors of China, Spices of India, Music of Greece,

Told the story of Mist without any words.

Mist never needed the stories to reach others.

Mist only needed me.

 

The Muses surround the platform that Mist stands upon.

Everything one could ever desire is present in this grove.

Words flow without articulation as winter slowly arrives.

Mist closes his eyes and dreams.

I forget myself.

So What If I’m Dark?

So what if I’m dark?

My darkness is merely a byproduct of this life, of my life.

People usually end up becoming what they know best.

Life has taught me darkness again and again.

            I should have a PhD by now.

They love my darkness as well.

            (They are all who know me).

They tell me that it doesn’t seem right

            For a bright mind to be so dark

                        Yet at the same time they love me for it.

They all act out their own part, why can’t I act out mine?

            Perhaps they are pretending

                        Like denying the existence of the word ‘ain’t’.

Perhaps they want me to pretend as well…

            To convert to their beliefs…

                        To conform by denying my true self.

                                    It ain’t right.

So what if I’m dark?

            The darkness suits me.

These green eyes look so cool when outlined in black.

            If these eyes were not so painted then they would see.

            They would see the dark circles under my eyes,

            This pale skin that’s been kept indoors.

            They would freak out even more then.

            They would see how dark I truly am.

So what if I’m dark?

So what if I live by the light of the moon?

Black Satin

Blue crystals staring at me…blue crystals amidst black satin.

They penetrate my being, my spirits shift from dark to light,

            Even though somehow I’m always dark.

Everytime I see the black satin hair I step back into history.

I run with Alexander the Great and conquer every nation I can.

I stand before pyramids, watching the sun set.

Time has no meaning anymore.  The past is here.  It never does pass.

The black satin hair I cannot reject keeps creeping back into my life.

Indecision becomes a void.  The palace inside my head never leaves,

But the room of tenseed voices, screams, and every kind of friction vanishes.

The man does not realize that he is about to spill his martini.

Now he is about to spill my burgundy velvet drink.

Drink it now, before the martini grows warm.

Did you order it just to impress her?

If you spill it all would you order another?

I cannot understand what I do not know.

I could never know it all…

That’s all right…there is lots of learning left to do.

I will study Alexander the Great until my head aches.

That would be good for me…step into the past.

It is all his fault!  He has led me here!

(Not the martini man but the black satin hair).

When she slaps his shoulder just so I wonder if it’s real.

I wonder if anything is ever real between them.

(This is the martini man again, interrupting my thoughts).

Martini man keeps elbowing me…

Friction has again entered the scene as I move away from Martini man.

The satin is so smooth, so limber, that I can almost not resist.

None of this is real though, it is an episode

From history, from my mind, from my dreams.

The Wretched Liquid

 

The light is blinding and

The wretchedness of this liquid

Creeps up my throat.

I squint while trying to hold back

The impules to scream, to cry, to ffight.

The light can be pure, right?

That is what they all say.

It does calm the soul, the liquid too.

But for what does this fluid long for?

A painted face, adoration from others?

Will it ever just go away?

This fluid I cough, I breathe,

I feel is drowning me in the aching

Compulsion of anger, of madness.

Will the light ever force the liquid

Into evaporation?

Prancing ponies is what I wish them to see.

Can I ever stop this madness?

Will I ever stop caring if they like me?

Perhaps simply saying this wretched liquid

Rather than this wretched light

Will be enough.

But what if my heart never finds content?

What if it begins to blend, intermix,

Into a mass of mismatching colors?

The swirling together of orange, purple, brown…

The result being an undesirable shade

Of a color resembling black only

Without the depth of black itself.

Could I ever just see the blue?

Twirling lilies is what they will all see

Rather than the yellow-brown liquid.

It all just swirls round and round

Until I feel the shakiness of my stomach,

Until my face feels warm,

Until my head aches.

Yellowed State

Obnoxious yellow it is,

            Glaring at you as a judge.

Judges wear black to avoid this effect.

Crazed eyes stare out, yellowed skin surrounds.

Stain or sickness?

Is it so integrated within its very being

            That no matter what it does it is

                        An obnoxious shade of yellow?

Can it not escape its fate?

Perhaps it is all a matter of perception.

Perhaps the redness of the eyes make

            The skin seem so yellow.

If the mind was there, would it change?

If the mind wasn’t lost in a state of

            Endless confusion would it still seem yellow?

It cannot deny its yellow state, this skin that is.

Perhaps age stole away all the pink,

            Or perhaps cigarette smoke or illness.

Perhaps a focused mind would help.

But he cannot be blamed for his condition.

It is not he who has lost his mind.

It is age and society.  It is sickness.

Now it is saddening to see him in

            Such a lost and yellowed state.

Black

It’s never enough.

My blackened lungs hinder my every move,

            My every breath.

These rotting teeth contradict me,

            My blackened lungs.

Every time the card I draw is The Lovers,

            Looking happy and content…

                        Full of love.

Every dream I have there is spilled coffee,

            Black coffee.

Understanding is further from you than I.

            You cannot see the blackness.

                        You act as one of the lovers but you are not.

                                    You are my blackened lung.

The black coffee goes down my throat

            Calming every nerve, every line of friction.

                        It does what it is not meant to do.

Moisture flees from my skin though I try to stop it.

            I need to black my skin some more,

                        Dream is not enough, never enough.

More black on the outside to show what is within.

            More words fly past my rotting teeth,

                        My blackened teeth,

            Though they may mean nothing.

My breath grows weak and I begin to despise

            This Tarot card I keep drawing.

For I know my card should be titled ‘Black’.

More black for my skin, my teeth, my lungs.

            More black coffee for it suits me.

                        It never does what it is meant to do.

Yet it is never enough.

Pieces

Pieces of a jigsaw puzzle floating through the air,

A small piece for everyone to serve as a stage.

Perform your hearts’ desire, perform away.

The circus is close, not too far away.

Pieces, pieces, it’s not yet together.

The globe is falling, she’s dressed like a fairy.

She’s only six years old but resembles a bride.

White fluffy dress with pink laced ballet shoes…

Her skin is pale white and her hair is blonde.

She dances and dances, not like a ballerina,

But as if she is waltzing with someone,

Yet no one is there.

 

I saw a violin case. 

Now I think I see the man who wielded it.

Can I be sure?

No.  Never the same.

All pieces, always pieces.

My mind is so confused that I can’t even

Begin to know what is pieced together and what is not.

Ten Minutes

You cannot truly know the past until the future arrives

Like the Dawn…

Only when the sky begins to brighten do you realize how dark it was before.

When the wind stops you realize how it chilled your skin.

So I am where I am…wherever that is.

I realized what has occurred before this moment,

Yet when did it end?

Where is this new formless land?

 

Ten minutes is everything.

Ten minutes is lost.

Ten minutes was nothing.

Ten minutes was bought.

 

So I have stepped back into the darkness

And I cannot remember the light.

I made it once…why not again?

So once more I waste ten minutes on this black cigarette.

 

Where are these lines going?

Stress

It just gets to be too much to think about.

Sometimes.  Always.

The slightest change – the slightest twitch –

Breaks apart the skin around my fingernails.

The sudden shift…

I don’t want to think about it.

Why does everything hit me so hard?

I react to things as if I hadn’t slept for days –

Yet I sleep quite a bit lately.

I don’t want to talk.

I don’t want to move.

I don’t want to worry about every fucking thing.

Just let me read.

Just let me write.

Just let me dream.

This feels like such a fight.

This stress is wearing me down.

Why? Why? Why?

I wish I could calm down.

I wish I could think straight.

I wish I…