Poem: Looking at Now

It's not looking like
my life
is going to get better.
This awful, suicidal, feeling
of failure and pointlessness
(for me)
never leaving,
never ceasing.

All alone, now.
All fingers point at me.
I don't know how I got so weak,
don't know when I became so...
beaten.

But it feels like forever,
now.
I can't imagine a way out.
My options seem so few.
It sometimes seems
I was better off
homeless;
At least then I was
driven.

Life was never meant to be so
alone.
I always had people,
when I was younger,
and wherever I went
I found new people too...

I never imagined
that would change,
but it did.
Experiences drove stakes between
Me and Others;
from abuse, to jail,
to addiction, to homelessness.

Now my life is a
vast, empty, plain,
with a voicemail every 200 miles
and maybe a few emails
blowing through the empty sky.
There are no people any more.
Even the people who pretend to be people,
don't stay for long.
Just a flash in the pan
of my emptiness.

All my very real physical pains;
no longer matter who is at fault.
Because they are there.
Because they are real.
Because nobody
except "I"
have to deal with them.

All my semi-real
mental and emotional pains
no longer have any meaning.
They're real.
They refuse to leave.
And no one
can do anything about it
except Me.

Alone,
in pain,
cut off from warmth,
the only one to blame is me.
Every day I get worse.
Or every day I get better.
It's all up to me.
No back-up.
No best-friend.
No lover, parent, mentor,
pet, or Angel.

Sitting in the corner of my room,
surrounded by blankets,
I cry and cry.

The pain in my back
forces me to
leave my room
for a walk.

Will I look back at this time
and laugh?

I think not.

Blues Song: I Miss You

Yes, I miss you,
yes, I do.
See your face
in the morning dew,
Evry rainbow,
an evry bird,
evry child now,
it sounds absurd;
I think of you.
I think of you.
Knowing you're out there,
I want to call,
knowing I'm so scared,
that I'll break it all,
yes, I miss you.
I miss you.
But there's nothing I can do,
now,
and you know it's true.
So I'll justa stay here;
Keep on missin you,
I'm missing you.

Poem: Eating

It's the same every day.
The same
gnawing,
painful,
hole
in my stomach.

Somehow this
painful hole
is connected to
the pain in my head
and the general lethargy
of the rest of my body.

I must eat.
God help me,
I must eat again.
Because if I do not eat,
I will not be able to
stomach my pills.
Vomiting them,
into the sink,
wont help my pain.
And it's a waste
of good medicine.

On good days I can
beat my body
to the punch.
Jump out of bed,
rush to the kitchen,
and shovel down
some oatmeal,
quick.
That pacifies the
monster stomach
sometimes.

More often
I put it off,
as long as possible.
Smoking cigarette
after cigarette.
Just thinking about eating,
and how much I hate it,
feeling the pain grow,
for hours,
yet it must be done.
Like pooping,
only worse,
because I have to
put stuff inside.

"Another bowl of fucking oatmeal,"
I think,
feeling nauseous
at the thought.
But I know
I'll end up
eating it.

If I were rich
I could drink lots of
fruit smoothies
and protein shakes.
That would help a lot.
But I'm not rich
and I don't
even have
a blender.

Eating is one of the
painful,
repetitive,
tortures,
that I endure here.
On Earth.

Every day.
Of this painful life.