by Joeyg

Created on: January 29, 2009

A flower moment.........

If there was some comfort
To be found, in my
Near given up,
And dried soul,
At the peak of my
Mid-drinking 20's,
I have found it.

Or so, comfort
Only really becomes
A series of,
Dear depression
Acceptance letters,
And no longer an inner guilt of,
"Why did I do that to myself?"

Then this leaves me to wonder,
Am I an alcoholic, or just
Presumed dead inside?

My thoughts are numb,
And I, chemically
Numb from thoughts,
Forever so.

Rapid jiggle jaw and
More craving, from
Near black out drunk,
And here and there drugs.

In my kitchen
I have found a line
Which I pace, in hopes of
Walking away from myself.

Instead I am led into fresh air.
My camera in hand,
So that maybe, I might
Capture inspiration,
To pull me from drowning.

By some chance mystery,
I have discovered
A perfect ground, rubbed
Warm by the Suns maid.

I now lay shirtless,
Pebble imprinted skin,
Against cracked paving stones.
My legs stretched
Across Infertile soil,
Desperate for lawn,
A seal, on the edges of her ocean.
Next to me, orphan flowers
Litter themselves unwanted,
In my backyard garden bed.

Young-lings by bloom,
Yet nearing ends death.
Somehow made to cycle
In and out,
For what purpose?

It was not long ago, when
Water was tricked
To a frozen death, and hung itself
From my eaves, waiting above
A powdery skin,
Which clung itself to
This earth,
Preventing these very flowers
From being themselves.
And now here they are,
Reborn to beauty.

Fire red tulips and
Drinker daffodils,
I only say this,
Because of,
Their twitchy movement
With no hint of breeze.
Reminding me of my dance.

They are so much better than me.

I haven't slept.
My alter ego,
Cleverly stamped
Cocaine cowboy Steve,
Still in uniform.
I am not a fan of westerns
Nor do I like,
Columbian drug runners,
But it seems,
At this point in my life
The midnight,
White line dance persona
Works well for me.

Tonic of a volatile nature
Still coursing through
This body's blood,

I don't deserve to call it my own.

The drink,
Makes you a little different,
Just a little brave
And one part stagger step stupid.

My mind is now wandering.

Back to the flowers.

My camera,
Attempts to capture
A close up
Of one particular tulip,
So red, my blood wants one,
And somehow diseased by
An uncomfortable yellow,
An inbred no doubt.

I can't really smell them just yet,
Numbing within this nose.
I think,
Poor nose,
Assaulted by a hit,
And promised this time,
Just one hit.

Clearly not the case.

My selfish eagerness to feel
Outward not me,
But better than.
Which also might explain
My raw sex parts,
Now I remember
But I just couldn't perform.

Pathetic.

In my head
The rin of loud music
Still pounding,
Except at 8am,
My ears hear nothing.
Strange how drowned out life
Becomes after a good night of
Drinking.

My eyes however
Have become deceptively clear.
As if by sheer forgiveness
For my habit act,
Nature itself has brightened
All colors, and painted signs of
"Look at me,
I mean really look at me."
To witness,
Once a weekend,
That there is still
A small chance
For me, in
Life's brilliance.

Perhaps, I wonder,
Could I in some way die now,
And be reborn a new Sander?

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