A Recipe For Sleepless People
Take one scoop of your heaviest thoughts,
And mix it with the number of hours that you have been awake today.
Add a pinch of the inky black room, and the things you should have said that keep repeating over and over in your brain like a slide show.
Put this into a bowl of counting the number of hours of sleep that you might get tonight if you are lucky.
Mix in the different orange bottles, filled to the brim with little white pills that the man in the lab coat claims would work this time.
Throw the blurred conversations and the faded faces into the oven.
Add this to trying to remember the people you talked to the hour before or even the outfit you wore yesterday.
Stir in the exhaustion and the anger of being up for over three days, wanting to be able to close your eyes, and take off into those blurred colors and seven-second dreams that people claim so near and dear to their heart.
Bake in cliché sayings such as sleep is for the weak, or I can sleep when I’m dead.
Cool for 15 minutes,
You just want a simple 15 minutes, of sleep.
For What Has Been Done
Looking at myself through a foggy mirror, I thought of who I could have become,
Traumatic incidents make you wiser,
Then why do I wake up at midnight with goosebumps and cold sweats?
I had things that were like a slideshow in my mind,
I thought of my parents, who got married when I was four,
Saying “I do” and I swear that’s the last time I saw them happy.
Or when I made a girl cry, because the words I said got scrambled in my mind and I didn’t know how to say sorry.
But as I looked in that clogged up mirror,
With the speckled of toothpaste and post it’s with reminders of daily hygiene,
I knew the incidents I had caused,
I could no longer fix.
For what has been done,
Is forever sealed.
The Imagination Of Death
When death comes our way, people claim it is the end.
There is a hazy light, and a flash of our life’s greatest moments,
But I never saw death in that type of sense.
I always imagined it would be something glorious,
As one dies, the life bubbles out from underneath them,
The black fuzzy glow comes as one closes their eyes,
And they see elegance in their death,
They see the things they did,
The daily pattern of the life they created for one's self,
They see the violin they used to play when they were six,
And the type of beauty that was found in thunder and lightening.
They lose themselves,
In the endless wonder,
Of their imagination.
A Letter To A Lost Loved One
I’m sorry that I troubled you,
I never met you at that restaurant you liked, always made you wait,
If you said 2:00, I would be there at 3:30; I was always one to be late.
And although you were always so fed up with me, you would never say:
“I love you, all beautiful things about you, but no longer in that way”
And so you kept pretending to be in love with me, and I with you,
Because you believed in if you once loved someone, continue to try,
Even though all you wanted to do, was forget
Who I was, and how our time together was a complicated lie,
There for darling you may leave, and I am here to stay.
Rusty Parts
I wish I were more than a pity kiss,
I met you,
When I was just a few rusty parts,
That you were just trying to put back together,
For the good fun of it.