03
Mar
Here I sit, alone at last,
Fighting fears while fading fast.
This bar is my comfort and cheap vodka my breath
there’re empty glasses and half a chip left.
I pull up my hood to keep my mind bleak
while the alcohol rises up through my cheeks.
We were lovers doomed from the start;
Atoms made to pull apart;
Strings of letters in my head;
Words as weightless as pencil lead.
I’m never a sinner’s second chance;
I’m every girl’s last romance;
I’m a billion lakes up in the sky;
I’m a fishing lure that comes untied.
A shadowed face, a drunk old man,
smiles and approaches, extending his hand.
He says “You don’t deserve to feel this way,”
Leave it at that, old-timer, I pray.
The light from the poolroom shows his eyes,
he’s dogeared and dreamy, says his goodbyes.
When he’s gone I simper, nod and laugh,
Sure you’re right, I’m on the wrong path.
I’m stoned on sadness, grief and regret,
an empty education—a rising debt.
You see I’m alone, and I love it here
it’s the easy way out with nothing to fear.
For happiness is not a straight standard line
and I won’t lie to myself that I’m doing just fine.
Unsatisfied with my resolve, the fart returns with drinks,
sits down, furrows his black bushy brow and thinks.
He says “Yeah, you’re right. The world’s a tar pit
half the world’s people bathe in their shit.
But you’re young and you’re dumb and you take for granted
All the damned things that keep you disenchanted.
And if life’s got no purpose as you impose,
why not be happy, try to make the most?”
His preaching gets me hot and pissed off.
He knows nothing of me except I drink Smirnoff.
So I take a sip to fuel my passion
it drains my pacifism, so barren and ashen.
I aim my arrow with self-hate and conceit:
deadly forces, which war will not ever defeat.
“Because ‘I love you’ isn’t good enough,” I start.
“And my manic-depression pulls me apart.
So I’m never happy where I am;
can you imagine that? Will you understand?
I’ve no enemies, only anger confused—
I’m burnt out at twenty-two, my talent misused.”
Words end in whisper, because I’m fraught.
The silence is strained—a rope most taut.
The old codger doesn’t back down as he begins to answer;
he’s devoted to life like malignant cancer.
“It’s fucking scary when you realize you’re alone.
All you’ve got are your feelings, maybe a bed at home.
Read my lips; heed the cause:
We love despite; we don’t love because.
But we’ve all got something beautiful to give
and that’s reason enough if there’s reason to live.”
His head dropped down as he spun his scotch,
emptied his tumbler, and looked at his watch.
“Call your mother, she misses your voice.
The decision is yours but make the right choice.”
His head picked up just to look through my face.
His eyes were a maze, a stained-glass gaze.
The man stumbled away while I finished my sour,
then sat at the bar for over an hour.