The Crossing

Somehow before me I have dug,
tooth and nail in my chest..
I am not the eyes I see,
Mirror side up, staring back at me.
Beginning with the end, and catching up with a drop..
And to my beggars knees, I push.
I am not here, inside this heart.
Emptiness breaks me, and pain seeps into my cracks.
Voice feeling so distant from familiar.
I simplify my words down to a lost thought.
And to quantify my elation, never in right's mind.
Dragged back by poison...
Leashing demons. Harnessing caustic self realization.
I go for the kill, before you're my prey.
And every time, you walk away....
I'd rather be the tracks that lay before me.
Penny patina and granularly red.
High carbon steel higher than me.
Amid foggy night looming moon caress.
Nothing but a headline, hand delivered in morning's press.

Dishes

I can see them, ominous... Staring me down like I'm already guilty. Poorly portrayed as sloppy wet suds, caressing supine porcelain... Dressed distastefully in last nights pasta sauce. Their emptiness, somehow my applaud. Filthy. A sad metaphor for that hollow feeling in my gut. Sizing me up and and trying to nip at my feet. In some way a reminder of overthrown success. Absorbing me like a sponge, lawn side down to scrub away any sense of inadequacy I've lacked. Locking me in, scolding my hands as I work to regain an idea of what normalcy looks like... Soft pale ceramic hues glistening under my faucet's waterfall. As the drying rack begins to fill, and I watch the last of the soapy episode circle the drain. Bubbles holding on to the cross hairs like a sad lover. And in the climax of my self loathing I manage to bare a grin. My lungs feel lighter, my breath deep. The weight of "ME" floating off of my shoulders for fragmented seconds. Calmness irising in on my heart and dancing with it's new beat.

In hindsight, I am buying paper plates.