Self Deception

44 / kind of a poetic life rant

5-2-17
And I'm laying in your bed while my hands smell like you and your dad just got home, we're watching some British movie, and as much as I'd give this up for an ocean eyed hurricane of freckles, I could almost feel normal. I could almost get what you have, I could almost slip into a family and call it right. But I'm getting ahead of myself, because shit ends, and I could never truly fill the holes. I could never truly have a family..

Do you see the isolation? Do you see why they'd avoid me?? In fact, better yet, what do you see?

Dinner with your family, you smoke cigars beneath the bridge and we look at graffiti on golden tides. The lines are getting blurry, but I know I'm crossing them. He says he's gotta figure out a lot of things, and I'm not about to push him, but my smile is yours, cocaine white, and if I at least take half a step off of this ledge, above a Windy City of desire, you'll believe I've jumped, because I know we've felt off lately. And after all, I deserve you.

There are reasons I don't trust anybody, and sometimes they smile at me like they know me, and I smile back because people are merry go rounds and we're all in a pointless game. I've got dirt on other people but the only shit I lay is on my own life, because I'm the only fucking witness. I'm not afraid of pain. It's fucked. I'm fucked. Life is fucked.

Somewhere in you, past the player, past the game, past the drugs, I see the bullet holes, and I know you're just scared, looking for love, acceptance, because you never got it, in one place, but goddamn that one place fucking killed you. And I'd say it works out a lot better for you than my isolated shit. I wonder if you notice. But I don't expect it. We've lost the same things, but we lost shit we only thought we had and somehow, that's so much fucking worse.

I see him, his anger lies at the surface, so it reflects light.. Maybe he's still blue to them, but blue is only a color, or at least it should be. Blue to me says too much. Your struggle attracts me, your depths keep me hooked. I shouldn't look but you're magnetic, touching my hands like you need an excuse, glancing my way with a smile and I've brought out that blush you used to wear. Don't act like you're crazy, either, because I'm tasting like danger, bad decision, and stale vodka. You know I mean this. You know I mean to tell you I never dropped.

And I look back at myself, these roads are so tangled, I don't think anyone has the interest in listening to it all in full. Nobody but a bottle. Fuck.

Suicide notes have a funny way of letting you know it never left because why would you be digging these pieces of paper out, but they also show you every reason you said no. And i could write letters all my life for people, and nonexistent things, alike, but I'm just a walking body. No hierarchy. No mercy. And I don't count on anyone to save me, fuck that. I'll never understand that. I don't put that much in anybody. And maybe someday somebody is gonna look close enough.

Maybe I'm screaming behind lowercase, but maybe I speak with a thousand voices.

I'll burn out by 30, but don't you worry about me. We're all going, aren't we? Just be crazy with me, and see my honesty as it is, forget what you think you know.

I'm a secret.
One you'll only know through this.
And that's why I write,
Until I can't rap verses because my throat is so sore,
Until I'm so done with life I can't even consider waking up,
Until my battery shuts off, and this one song gets old.
Nothing else fixes it. I don't talk about anything, it's not like it helps.
But this,
This is therapy.
The only thing I know, and love,
And for somebody with no sense of commitment,
You can call it dedication, or maybe fate, whatever that means.
- (m.m)