companion

Misery loves company.
Misery is crowding me.
Misery is holding a party
and I'm the guest of honor.

See it and believe you ugly bird, we're covering this
page with blood red Crayola. Doesn't wipe away.
Mommy's furniture used and stained. Out through the
glass I see me cracking. Let Fitzgerald pick up the pieces.

All the little lights in the eyes
they’ve gone and done dimmed out.
You could look and say, in the past they said
what they thought was some twinkle, some secret knowledge,
a joke that amused me and nobody else.
Behind everything else, they saw this.

Untier.
Untier.
I don’t want to be.

One angel was going back to heaven
and hearing the cries of the mortals below,
couldn’t stand it
and came back down to help people,
in the process, losing its wings forever.

Broken wings.

Why did I come back for this?

I thought it might have been to set things straight.
Now I’m creating more ghosts.

"come on, babe, write it and get it out of your system –
it's not trivializing it -
it's a way to put some distance between you and 'it' -
a way to cope"

Selling it.
Selling a death.
That's what it looks like to me.
To write about it.
To these people.
It makes me sick.
I won't look back at this one again.
Never look back.
That's where the accidents are.
Ahead, that's clear and future
potential for more destruction.

Don’t come close.
I can’t tell anybody.
I want to help you, but I can’t.
I could never say “no”.
Think fast for the morphine, Mr. Moto.

Beautiful epic and one less kid on Santa’s lap.
With so much blood, thank goodness it’s the holidays
and everything else is red.

These visions of fucking tears streaming everywhere.
And fear. This poor woman scared.
Because this is my fault.
For violating the code.

I remember at this party last weekend.
Downing vodka and swallowing pills.
After just hooking up with this guy.
The conversation between myself and the girls
was how the men liked it.
How to do it and how to make it fun.
Because I knew the answers.
When I bothered to answer I never made it more
than what it was.
And I said at one point,
“I just broke up with a guy tonight.
I never do that. Never.
You think I’ll sleep tonight?”
You’ll think I’ll sleep tonight?
I did that night.
And well.
But now, no, not lately.
Not without horror.
Not without spending all day in bed and
popping Valium.

Sin against an animal.
Sin against a blade of grass.
The sin is against yourself.
Yours. Keep it to yourself.

I have to work.
I’m going mad, but I have to do it on the clock.
I shouldn’t care, but I do.
Only my doctor knows what happened.
The office. The clock and machines.
Holiday swap meet.
White package of pills in pocket.
And this package of pills.
Who knows what its like to have my life?
Going clean.
No, don’t want to, but must.
Must take them.
Don’t want to. But must.
5 more. 6 more.
Have to stop the visions.
Must. Fucking must.
I’m not selling angst and I’m hoping you don’t understand.
Don’t want sympathy.
This is no marketing ploy. Trivializing.
Let’s say I didn’t do it.
Let’s kill Tookie.
Let’s let everyone else live, since we hate blacks and love whites.
Pull the switch on the leader of the Crips
and let a little light get back into my eyes.
Let's break this sugar town, baby.
Under the house and over the moon.
They all know something is wrong and something has changed.
They just can’t stop it.

“What happened to that sweet girl I knew in high school?
Where are you?”

James called me Monster and knew it.
I miss the feeling of his hand on mine.
That love.
I don’t want to. But must.
I’m sorry.

If they wake you up in heaven or hell
you can say
“Alas, poor Monster.
I never knew her well.”

Love, your love.