Rough draft

Rough draft
I’m going to be honest. This is not my real first chapter of the autobiography (Auto- self, bio-life, graphy-writing) that I have been assigned to write for English Class. I left that folder at school, over Rosh HaShanna. I regret that, on a certain level, as I had been looking forward to putting those words to type. But I will accept that, because I haven’t anything else to do, except for read and think thoughts that one might consider deep, or narrate my life in a soft voice in my head. So I sit. Laptop propped on my legs, fingers pounding out words that I think only seconds before, my speed barred only by my abysmal typing skills and my distractibility. My mother is reading over my shoulder, but I don’t really mind, only feel slightly invaded, disconcerted. The disconcertion may have more to do with the exhaustion I feel weighing down on me. Exhaustion, if you have never been (which is unlikely if you are over the age of twelve or so, and an American,) truly has weight. It is a blanket, tucked too tight. It is a pea soup fog that engulfs a city, as those called forth by religion and custom journey down to a river and cast their sins on to the waters. It is a rain that feels like a second skin. I want to shed it, follow my sins it to the river, go from 95% humidity to 100%. If I am part of it, I will not feel this haunting separation. I don’t feel right here, in this obvious display of wealth. The grounds are expansive. There is a bridge over the service road, a house of four brick wedding cake layers, terraces and fountains and staircases. I think it would be beautiful if water gushed down, turning these topiaries, bricks and concrete, into a waterfall, swamping the swimming pool, over flowing, reaching tendrils across the tennis courts, down the grounds, leeching slowly into the river. Everything flowing away. It will beautiful. Yes. Spectacular.

Heart

He is a vampire,
not in the bloodsucking,
traditional sense of the word,
a wizard
eating your Heart out,
this beautiful empty.

The splatterings of scarlet
shimmer blood,
rip your Heart out
you don't need a Heart to live,
that organ
pumping,
pumping
blood,
sending it out,
taking it in,
is one heart,
made of striated muscle
expanding and contracting until
the end

But a Heart,
A Heart
is something people
draw,
with question mark reflecting
question mark
Filled with compassion, sympathy,
misguided gorgeous Feeling
like Love
with question after question
as it is extracted from within you
and you witness it pulsing,
glowing in his hand
as the knife slices it thin,
transparent slivers
that melt,
cotton candy,
on his tongue
and elegantly,
slowly,
excruciating,
the feeling
leaves you,
and you float
up
up
up
helium filled balloon
until you reach the stars

Empty space

The way the music sends away the noise
and fills the space between the ears
in the same way every thought used to be the sole focus
of our command
I feel hollow without them
So I fill it
So I fill this space behind my heart
within my head
with all this wonderful nonsense
and angsty weights of gold
that I am only beginning to understand
We do whatever it is we may do to fill the void
and continue to refuse to understand
the empty
fill itfill itfill itfill it
dig it out
dig down
dig deep
don't let the silence take me down (take me down)
don't let these feelings echo out (echo out)
don't let me be all alone (all alone)
I can stand to be alone (be alone)
not to be empty, hollow,
emptied, hollowed.
And on mine own.

quick fix

remission doesn't last forever now,
stand together, now,
when things long gone make their returns
does it always bring you down?
I just watched as history repeated itself to me
laughing in its heartless manner
about how quickly the same story can be retold, can be retold
the beauty of it is, that, some of the characters,
they're different,
but have played these parts before
and it's enough to tear you apart
for someone-elses' happiness
as I am slowly learning
the depth and breadth of my own strength
and power
don't you let me forget it
I want to take you for granted
and I will
and I will
be bitter for a time,
cold and angry,
like ice on fire
and eventually melt,
falling to slumber,
and awakening in the morning,
cured.

Sending out and searching for

I am sending out and searching for
the things that went,
that went before,
looking for the words that mean
not exactly the same thing
when frightfully beginning to unveil
the truth that holds out, fraught and pale,
wishing in the whispered nights
of things gone wrong,
of lives gone right.
Ghostly messengers of our strife
spreading word of eternal life
to masses waiting at the helm
steering the world ship 'round and 'round,
as they send out,
and as they search for,
what ever went,
and went before.

Tired try

I am tired of trying to cater to
_the faces I see in the crowd
_the thoughts I hear when the music is loud
_the anger that fills a strangers house
_the wrath of countries far away
Nobody can stand to
_fill the space
_play the ace
_forget what they have been searching for
_tell a lie
Don't you wish that you could see
_the glorious things you would like to be
_the world as it is meant to be
_everything working to a tee
_something different, something free
Is the future what you want to know?
_Or is it something you'd prefer not to?
_How far can you go?
_Can you go slow?
_Would you wait until I show?
Does everything fade, does it even exist?
Did you know you would be missed?
There are those who would sit and wait
simply because they believe it fate,
But I grow tired of sitting still,
so now, I bend fate to my will.

Considerations

I would not be the first to say
that I have never felt this way:
a pressing need, desire in flux,
morality placed in a crux.

As men fall victim to their vice
and reality as cold as ice
they feel compelled to reconsider
everything that made them better.

Who can be everything they try to be?
Only those who only see what they want to see?
And when it comes time to face the facts
and one must retrace their tracks,

What is it that will push through,
and what is it that will fall away?