Winter (Bleeding Ink)

This

This is the poem I write

When there’s no music

When I sit in the dark

My legs aching

My hands shaking

I tried writing drunk

But it only made the demons come out of

The woods

The voices had been sleeping

In the back of my mind

I’m just a selfish person

In a selfish world

I have stories

In my mind

I hold on to them

Believing it will buy me more time

Didn’t they tell you

It won’t let go

Just because you get old

But you can out grow

Some of these impulses

I can’t write

About the girl

With the brown hair

The dark eyes

The bruise behind her leg

I can’t write

About the “summer air…”

I’m beaten down

What have I become?

Someone said

Writer’s are just vampires

suck you dry

And leave you

Declaring you will never

Die

If they love you

Spoiler

(They never really love you …)

While all the stars are out tonight

I always have poems behind my eyes

I try to write

What I wish was written

I try to write

Without complaining

We will never be 17 again

never 21 again

never see you

Go through my shit again.

I always dream

Buckets under the sink

I wake up

Feeling the cold air through kitchen window frame

Why do we do the things we do

The water lines freeze

This house is made of shit

Have you ever woke up to the sound of termites ?

I still carry it in mind

And it’s frightening but I guess we do what we have to do

And so do you…

There’s a boy just over there

Shoveling the septic tank

He’s ashamed

He’s too young to figure it out

And when he’s old enough

He won’t care anyhow

And we all lived didn’t we?

We pack ourselves

With light

We fill the void with anything

Sometimes

I wake up

Because it won’t let go

It won’t let go

Just because you get old ….

And I’m afraid

Of what I’ve become

She always said

I was too much

Something else

She couldn’t label

And it’s lonely

Cold weather

When you prefer the winter…

I prefer the cold night air…