Do You See This Night?

Do You See This Night?

Do you?
This towering, ancient
sour dream tree of petrified tears...
For years, this night
has blocked all hope of sunrise.
This night is solid wood

but I am going to break its branches.

This night's soiled roots
that have tugged so tight around my throat
are going to loosen...
are going to lose.

I’ve been bullied,
broke and aloned.
Now I’m blessed with restless passion.
Turn bruises into shields.
Like liquid metal I am cooling my anger
into the greatest weapon.

Crack!

This night is splitting wood.

I am the axe against its bark,
bite like acid at the trunk.
With relentless vision,
eyes like machetes
and sweet strong pride, unshakeable.
My belief is unbreakable as I chop
chop
down
this
night.

Crash!

Unclog clear skies.
Breathe out my dreams.
Smell their freshly cut spices.
Taste their quivering nervous heat
as dust particles kiss the air.

This night is dead.
Felled.
Count the rings inside.
Each ring within its split core marks another year
I made it through.
I made it!
These rings are the rungs I’ve climbed
to find myself behind this night's silhouette.
I embrace the years I have conquered,
and will never fear the joy of ageing.

Joy of life without this night
No longer telling myself
"I am weak.”
Moon drowned words.
Shadow obscured sight.
I watered this night with my tears.

I wish... I could hold a fraction of the colour
that sparks and cracks inside me now
and convey it back through time,
back to when this night clung tightest
show myself,
"This night will end!"

Look around.
Already seeds of another night
are being sown at my feet.
A dark sapling claws at my ankle.
It is trying to take root.

Tomorrow, I Will Go Dancing

Tomorrow, I Will Go Dancing

Today, I’m eating margarine straight from the tub
and I feel so guilty however hard I scrub.
My wrist's unbandaged, I’m trying not to rub
but I’ve so many sores that need lancing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

My fingernails are rusty. Head full of ills.
Chest hot and tender as stomach spills.
But tomorrow, I’m going to get these little pills.
See, everything about me needs enhancing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

Tomorrow, you’ll go dancing, in your glitter tat.
Absinthe! Vodka! You never get fat.
Laughing. Smiling. All that goes with that.
Today, I feel anxieties advancing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

Hear my father’s voice, warped and splintered today,
he says “Misery will find you, boy, you’ll never get away.”
My dick feels like a beehive on a warm, summer’s day
when I see pretty things all preening and prancing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

Everyone there’s friendly. Falling into song.
I want to be loved. I’ve been lonely for so long.
Tomorrow is a vessel, sail way from all this wrong
where bitches say I’m ugly and can’t sing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

Today, I feel your laughter and it’s gnawing in my head.
It's biting out the blisters where you burned until I bled.
If I panic ‘til I can’t breathe, feel I’d be better dead,
well, I tell myself that risk is worth chancing.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.

I want to join the happy crowds, glorious and glad.
I want to like pop music. Never feel bad.
My therapist’s implying that I choose to be this sad.
I tell her, “You know nothing… but if you’re asking...
I think she's asking?
She's asking.
Tomorrow, I will go dancing.”

Living Document

Living Document

My mind is a living document,
marching on paper legs,
trampling detail,
dissecting later.

My mind is a feeding document, parasitic,
bloated hungry, writes over its own mistakes,
slops new ideas on top of old,
past thoughts bleeding between present ones.

My mind is a breathing document,
gasping for air,
strains its leash.
This brittle body cover can’t hold it down.

My mind is a walking document, no, a running document,
tears ahead of hands,
rips through pride and pants.
Its inky prints stain you. My mouth says sorry.

This mind is a talking document,
tells me sour endings it promises will unfold.
Help me keep its wet, jaw pages tight shut.
There’s a black blob butterfly inside.

This mind is a laughing document,
cackling all night.
How can I sleep?
I’m wide eyed beside you.

Your mind is in a dream hammock
resting over your head.
It returns to your brain as you wake.
I wrestle with mine ‘til it knocks me out cold.