Even I have feelings sometimes, and unfortunately, I`m sharing them.

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Tue, 2012-04-03 01:51

Skummilk

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Joined: 2010-03-10

Even I have feelings sometimes, and unfortunately, I`m sharing them.

Sleeping alone for the first time in over two years, isn’t that bad, it’s the third night.

The first night, you think, sweet, I can spread out, roll around hog the covers, fuckin eh, not too shabby.

Second night, you’re telling yourself it’s cool and you almost believe it.

Third night, third night man, that’s when you realize, when you are forced to see it as it IS, they ain’t sleepin here no more

And that, that my friends, that fucking SUCKS

Flashflood mindwave drowning, memories of drowning in skin now drowning in memories of drowning in bottles drowning in a shallow pool with no lifeguards, talking to people on facebook chat who you barely remember at two in the morning drowning in online porn in poems and novels and anxiety

Suddenly the urge to look at the bed as if they’re just being really quite right now, or if you’ve got little games you used to play with each other, little memes, you suddenly need to say one, and that shared joy, as minute as it is, is drowned in the silence of their absence.

So I take another shot, yell bikepath in my head, and waking dream of sleeping dreams. How nice it would be to lose consciousness, but I was scared of the liquor store today, so all I have is last dregs on what used to be half a mickey leftover rye. And now knowing definitely what I hoped wouldn’t be, but always clearly an inevitability, out of liquor, not drunk enough to pass out, and soon the thirst will be terrible strong, and no one to hide in, to hide with.

No one, with.

With

That word horrifying(,) with it’s power.

With the power vested in me, with this bottle, with my friends, with my family, with my loves, and loved, with those around, never alone with, with with, but I didn’t and don’t have the wherewithal to keep them all with me where I’m going, looks like where I go I go alone. Without.

Don’t pity me, I ain’t sad about it, not really, I think.

Wed, 2012-04-11 00:10

Skummilk

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Joined: 2010-03-10

My mind is a rusted machine needing liquor lubricants to keep functioning

I haven’t been sober in weeks "and I keep singing the same damn song over again and over again and over again"

Listening to bomb the music industry

Screaming at the sky to get the fuck out the way so I can see the stars

Wishing to god the streetlamp would speak to me

But he’s probably a fucking asshole sick of me keeping him up at night but he’s like a night light comforting me in my infantile self-destructive rages

What’s wrong with me?

Why can’t I sleep without a nightcap?

Feinding friends in bottle bottoms and cigarette butts
Finding nothing but warped worlds through brown glass
My vision stained with shit

I’m sick of it but she sings a pretty tune numbing notes coursing in veins and livers

Strummed on wrecked vocal cords thick spit morning cough hangover buzz half the fun of waking up

Seeing pale gaunt disgusting self, reflected in mirror over toilet, memories of last night swirling home to the sewer

I’m lonely

Really fucking lonely

Wed, 2012-04-11 00:12

(Reply to #2) #3

Skummilk

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Joined: 2010-03-10

Trying is useless she told me

Trying is all we got I thought

But further inspection and I realize trying is bullshit

Cause when you try you win or lose

You miss or hit

So shit really is black and white

Trying, is just the present tense of either winning or losing

The outcome is decided the second you decide to try

So why not try?
bullshit makes the flowers grow
Never know if you never ask
Never see if you never take off the mask
Never drive if you never take it off park
Never light a fire without a spark
Way she goes man

Way. she. goes.

She goes

With or without you

But she goes with you when you do

She leaves you at the station when you hesitate

When you DON’T
She DON’T

Fortune a fickle bitch
But you can tickle her a bit
Get her on your side
For a minute or two

Sat, 2012-04-21 15:04

(Reply to #3) #4

BigDeal

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Joined: 2006-11-10

This is some of the realest writing I've read in a long time, bud, and I think you got something powerful here if you strung it all together in a poem. But maybe you just needed to vent and you don't wanna make something poem-y outta this, which is cool too. Some impressive potential here, though.

I've been where you've been, and as Dan Savage says it gets better. Just remember that loneliness can teach us a lot about ourselves, and see it as a learning experience, as corny as that shitty phrase is.

Sun, 2012-05-13 02:37

(Reply to #4) #5

Skummilk

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Joined: 2010-03-10

As corny as your shitty phrase was, it rings true.

However, I saw these as three seperate poems, but perhaps I should take up the unfamiliar habit of editing and actually writing with intent, as apposed to the stream of consciousness impromptu writing that I have always worked with, I always wanted to write like a poet, slaving over lines and words, but I cannot bring myself to do it, which I see as a detriment to my artistic output (an detriment to quality not quantity). And though this may have sounded sarcastic, I assure you it is not, and I am thoroughly interested in hearing (reading?) suggestions on how these could be integrated into a coherent singular work. For I am a firm believer in honesty, and though some things I will never share, this I feel is universal and is certainly very important and quite likely (as you say) formative for my life, and would certainly not want to miss out on a chance to be both honest and eloquent, and perhaps help someone suffering as I am.

Toronto Poetry Slam

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