Something Has To Matter

up,

fearing for your fall.

Every time I exposed my hand

to the swarming pack

I’d pull it back,

bloodied and bruised,

afraid and confused.

Now I see the truth

and it pains me more than the

cuts.

There never was a pack,

I truly did.

Acted on impulse

like an ignorant kid.

I’m angry and wounded

and it’s all my fault.

Consequences are coming

or anyone else 

in the eyes.

If that connection is made, 

recognition to pain,

the dam could break 

and no one knows 

what happens after that.

Breaking is already 

so uncomfortable.

Can’t imagine doing it for an audience.

Salvation in 

then tell the husks what they’re worth.

I believe in earned bounty

but I wonder where it is.

Kings and queens sing its grace

yet they’re not keen on sharing.

Anger fills my empty belly

bubbling under my skin.

Great effort is expended

silencing the savage roars.

I don’t want it near people,

especially the ones I love.

Then another loss weighs on me

coming to an end.

Time flowers faster

the more of it I spend.

I think of laughs

with family and friends

and cherish them for a moment

Not of masochism

but of some cause that recognizes our

suffering

and the need for a why.

We dream of a greater meaning

than endurance, than passivity.

A life defined by the good that comes after

the evil that dares to define us.

We dream because even when dreams

mean nothing

On. Off. On. Off.

Static crackles with each

unexpected flip,

disorienting my understanding of

what is.

There’s too much to make sense of,

like deciphering coded language to the tune of white noise.

No rhyme or reason

which means no luck fixing it.

Can’t hear myself think

but 

And I matter.

Ask me what I’m up to

and I’m madder.

I can’t believe.

Seem to forgot how.

My chin is up.

But all I see is now.

A future sounds nice.

A nice future would be great.

Imagine having one.

Can’t hear clear.

Don’t know what to say.

Me? I’m ok.

No, really. Taking it

you can count on that.

Still I dare demand,

can’t help it honestly.

Every day I make a stand,

every night I’m on my ass.

I’m not saying life’s never grand,

or stubborn with my points.

Even when you are stressed,

there’s grace in your voice.

Pure things are usually just that way,

whether someone’s looking or not.

That doesn’t make it less important

to appreciate them as we should.

In no vague terms or passive form

while kicking and screaming.

You’re full of shit

and I’m out of patience.

I left it all the same place 

I gave my last fuck.

In your empty words,

on our couch in our living room.

Our favorite blankets keep us warm

and for a moment there’s no impending doom.

Just you and I, happy to be,

enjoying the cool winter air.

Our windows open, no noise distracting,

My favorite was of my other half, staring up at her ceiling thinking of me even though we hadn’t “technically” met.

Then we met and kissed and some other stuff happened and a dream of mine had come true for once.

I woke up, abruptly of course, and before I knew it I had fallen back asleep into a nightmare. These I’m familiar with. They’re lonely but not in the traditional sense. I know you’re real, but I can’t bare to tell myself my favorite nighttime story anymore.

Every time I wake up, I feel normal for a second until I realize my teeth are falling out and my legs aren’t working and there’s a clown chasing me and my family is laughing and my friends don’t remember me-

When we’re lying in bed I’ll look and think about kissing it. The problem is you can’t really kiss a tooth, at least not in a way that’s worth trying.

But I think about kissing it still, along with her rosy cheeks that she’s worried are too red, or her legs covered in tiny multicolored bruises like a storied rainbow of bumps and mishaps.