Madness settles in

Dissecting life and demise

The demise of my

Mortal soul

Immortality I think

As you settle in at my side

Immortality in words

Immortality in your face

Away. Lingering...

There is shame

And guilt and longing

Epic and yet so very small

Ever elusive my sweet sleep,

never allowing a slumber deep.

When will you surrender me,

a dream so sweet I wish to see.

Still I lie here in silent unrest,

with but of one simple request.

Let me slip into restful sleep,

so my sanity I may keep. 

Manipulated,

pushed to a corner,

labeled, accused, judged.

My reaction is that

of a normal man.

I should not be here.

Too many voices. I’ll concentrate on writing. Focusing on something usually helps. I know, I’ll write in my journal:

2 March 2016, 12:37pm

For a library, it’s rather noisy. The people around me are having a difficult time sitting still. The one by the corner, tall Caucasian, mussed hair. He keeps looking around. Handsome guy, but jittery. Does he have a mental health issue?

Heroes always fall off of their pedestals. Here I am trying to see the positive and he passes gas. I just got an instant headache from holding back my laughter. 

Another patron is annoyed. He said something, but the music playing in my earphones made me miss it. Oh, well.

To my left is a tiny, frail looking Black-American woman. She’s been mumbling to herself since she first sat down. She doesn’t seem to be a bother, just preoccupied in her thoughts. I wonder if she realizes that she’s talking to herself?

Over by the information desk a client is arguing with the clerical staff. It’s only a matter of minutes before the security guard walks over. I can’t see the desk, a bookshelf stands between us. His voice is getting louder. I can hear him over my acoustic guitar music. I don’t want to raise the volume. That would hurt my eardrums.

Writing about these people is not working for me. I’m going to have to stream a TV program.

1:23pm

Someone’s entry on social media

reminds me of a goal not realized.

Tears threaten to flow. I distract myself

with the sunshine that streams through the window

it reminds me not to let go of Hope…

You left me alone last night, so I did the only thing I knew how.

I took a drink.

And then another.

Finally, I finished a whole bottle, and pretty soon I began to realize why I drink every time you leave.

It reminds me of you.

When I reach for that bottle, I'm really reaching for you.

When the liquor burns my throat, that's you feeding me the words I want to hear, even though I know it's lies.

I get this sense of excitement that sends me on a trip after I've had a few.

The same feeling I get when you pin me down, and whisper in my ear.

And the excruciating hangover I feel afterwards?

That's only you screaming at me and telling me how I've fucked up. How you regret me.

I don't drink to forget you.

I drink to keep you with me.

My mood is indescribable. Tightly folded in the bottom drawer of a little girl's vanity. A downspout of misguided rain freezing overnight. A complicated mountain folded, its peak sheltered by sensitivity and fog. Its hardened crust evaporating into sadness. My desolation comforted by his imaginary love. Pain is romanticized inside my mind. Love and delusion reflected in a streak-free mirror. Literary connections found in pulsating  isolation love me back. I am disconnected from the norm. I admire the faithful but I only sleep with questions. Relieving cuts pour bleeding onto my canvas blank. I offer explanations unintelligibly through matte abstracting art. I am complexly overwhelmed by simple movement and my mascara smears like a passionate whore. My legs spread wide, knees bent, my aged hips crack with temporary satiation. Heavy sighs are my aphrodisiac into oblivion. The warmth of the sun on my face is my mother. Nature hugs me with its bark folding into rings. Gasping with emotion, my eyelids bow at the thought of him. Moved to tears when Mozart's final notes appear tangible. A grin too wide and too toothy silently churns my stomach to the tone of laughing clowns. Names spelled wrong hanging on the air make me dizzy. Contradicting comfort found in metaphors and algebra. Pages folded into triangles increase my focus. Abhorrent shock at mass blindness ruminates into psychosis. Despair dropping into a bucket of mud in my chest when I think of my image of love. Despondency covers my shoulders, my grandmother's shawl, when the chill of  loneliness arises. Inner epiphanies debate over desire and reality. I stand still and stuck from fear, my existential ability questionable. Independence challenges my need. I know my bravery exists, but it is tucked between the folded linens. And I hate to disrupt the familiar aroma. And so, I keep the closet closed.