on the ledge

up there on the fifth floor,
rubbing his hands on the worn down armrests.
rubbing, rubbing
the constant hum of the rain,
buzzing, buzzing
like a needle scratching an old record.
was he God?
was he the Devil?
did he even Believe?
wet noise and death,
opening the window.
a once wandering mind,
now mired in painful speculation.
frightening life,
turning, turning
out on the ledge.
was he only the tiny voice in his head?
tiny voice counting
five
four
tree
two
one
he died in his mind, always.

dark harvest

each night in bed
wrestling with the moon
and my sheets
i write poems in my head
intellectual one night stands
forgotten in the morning
just words whispered away
in the cool breeze of the AC
before i fall asleep
these are my favourites
the stillborn prose
my own dark harvest
lingering like a sweet hangover
of imploding thoughts
they are mine now
gone in the dark
lost forever in my head

then came the hurt

then came the sounds
clearing a vast space within me
i saw her lips
understood every word
individually, but
put together the meaning failed me
it was the movement of her mouth
searching for the least painful phrase
the somber syllables dead in her eyes
a glare wandering the still air
searching for simpler times
then came the hurt
a pain only communicated
by the one you truly love
the emptiness we both felt
now hangs between us

we join in

outside,
and grown men are barking like dogs
how wild is this place?, she says
this is where man and beast merge into one,
out of sheer necessity
sooner or later we all go mad, i tell her
how far removed are we from any sort of normalcy?
i don't know, i say,
how do you measure a thing like that?
we laugh and blow smoke in each others faces
high on summer and love and beer
we join in
howling, barking, screaming
and the hollywood night gets quiet again
we have marked our territory,
for now
that was a close one, i say
and she smiles

shhh

time just stopped moving,
didn't it?
you were gone,
and it was me and the wall
again.
the clock keeps mocking me
with it's dead arms.
i wait for the right time to call,
but time just stopped moving,
didn't it?
now i'm gone,
and it's me and the clock,
not ticking
ticking
shhhh

colorblind

always new drugs to quit.
pills that taste like green and blue and yellow.
it's a soothing sickness,
plush and cloudy in all respects.
several demons,
green and blue and yellow,
resting on my shoulders.
then they get me,
and only alcohol can wash away
the taste of color.
wash me away from me,
lick the sobriety off my skin.
the umbilical strangulation
of that past
and now
and kill
my
eyes.
i got those colors in my head now, but
i don't want to see.
don't want to breathe.