perchance, to dream…ay there’s the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come… the bard
to want to sleep, just to be near your whisper of a ghost. your make believe breath, warm and comforting…dissipates with the sound of the alarm. red red. and poof you’re gone again. real seconds, real minutes turn into real hours and days…years, and a lifetime. and yet all i want to do is dream.
i don’t know. how to find that small warm corner to tuck myself into. get away from a bad day and craving cigarettes. how easy it’d be to drown in that short rush, where words seem much better than they really are, where i’m better than myself. i’m good at self-torment. great at the slow death. i can dive deep into the dark mud and find just a little bit of hope…wringe its tender neck…
there is no great answer. no wonderful montyhall-like prize. you didn’t get to collect $200, you couldn’t get past go. frozen. not even undone.
did i disappoint you? leave a bad taste in your mouth? u2
fold and unfold, the creases are a bit yellow these days, but no holes yet, no holes, none. i read and re-read. i wonder about hyphens and question marks, and handwritten signatures promising forever and that ugly four letter word. and i laugh. think. doze off to la-la land, still trying to get to you. the airplane never lands though. it never finds solid ground. just fluffy clouds, like white mountains from afar, once you get close…they come apart.
you’re dangerous, ’cause you’re honest, your dangerous, you don’t know what you want u2
once more with feeling baby. yes. once more. i read how tough it must have been to type, those letter combinations making questions about, “what did you get?”… today i realized, honey, i’ve got the answer now, you got everything honey, everything but me.
i’m only hanging on to watch you go down u2
i gave it the ole college try honey. i did, i did, i did. then something in me just let that string go. maybe it was the “we’ve got nothing in common” speech, or the 95 mph “cunt” you threw in a fit of rage as california whizzed by. somewhere on a hill in pasedena, my ghost is standing watching your van drive on.
every artist is a cannibal, every poet is a thief u2
if only. if only. if only. today were yesterday. or yesterday were tomorrow…but now is now is now is now and now sucks.
light my way u2
i’ve been a cheater all of my life. honey, it’s been a revolving door. pretending your little bit of magic didn’t exist in any of the four chambers pumping blood everywhere. somewhere there are two empty stools, a bottle of saki and a juke box waiting, waiting for her to pick a song.