Within My Own Lines

Allow me to reintroduce myself:

I'm fucking lonely.

L to the only,
one stuck between "now"
and the "old me",
spinning slightly between hyperbole,
sittin' sad-saddle with a coyote over coffee
wondering why she can't just hold hands
with anyone in the city,

if you put your Paws UP
they won't put their paws Up,

but if you take your hands out
sunglasses off
ear-buds burstin blazing a new trail-trough
for your IRA-Roth,
never know when to fold 'em
like Holden

but if you disconnect less than a 56k modem,
that should leave you with room to feel chosen

by a set of spacey CTA eyes wandering around
subconsciously
under the guise of needing to be validated
externally
and yet not being able to bring oneself to admit this reality
leaving nearly Every second
of Every day
near, death, empty

as if eye-contact, or
a brush
on the arm
could manifest itself internally
sink, past your tongue, and
plop itself Wet into your belly
taking a seat somewhere in between your insecurity
leaving itself at home for another missed opportunity

does my abandon precede me
or does it suit me truthfully?
can I catch my unawares with eight hours of sleep
and a healthier diet?
sneak up behind it with an
enormous net,
sown from good habit
and a baseball bat
signed by Malcolm Gladwell?
and near my last second
will I catch it and beat it to a pulp,
just Screaming
and Smashing
and
Thrashing the shit out of all of these things I just do
Not want to be

and when it's said
and it's done
and I empty the remains across some alter
in some dream I once had
or haven't even had yet,
is it obvious
to every person
in every pew
just waiting to hear that they're going to be
"okay" someday, too,
that My netted friend will always just be Me,
caught
spinning a reflection within they eyes of onlookers,
and Me,
standing behind the alter,
somewhere on the other side,
dieing to dare to draw
within my own lines

Category:

Music

Tags:

• Jayson
• Nessi
• Poetry
• Cram
• Chicago
• WBEZ