acting like its all ok

A sponge that holds no water is not a stone
shadows slice through space and we only see them on the ground
on the walls, or casting on our faces
the microwaves and radio waves dice through our bodies
we hear and see them through the power of metal
I open the old tall window,
my room sucks the city in,
the phone purrs again, and again,
I've been slipping,
responsibility, work, everything,
it's going
I need it to be simpler,
not more complex, it doesn't need to be,
I may take a train,
somewhere long and far,
got love will not follow
got none
got gone
got scars

Soldiers Home

I've lived in the past. I've been tucked into the neat folds of time. I've torn myself into pieces making bullet points on this display. Line after straight line I spread out whats on my mind. And endless array of disarray, squinted tired eyes scan the pixels of the screen searching for the next step or just the meaning. The smiles and the laughs, the lifted eyebrows and gentle hands. You speak away and point to me, the tide rushes in. I stand in traffic with spite for every car, every light, everything. Wailing clocks and cool clear windows are everything. Placement, predicament, pattern, and persistence, life has lost it's luster, the brave are too brave to weep. No clouds, no stars, light the empty sky wrapped around jagged corners and man's venture to the sky. No soul, no love, slip through the spaces of darkness surrounding me. I might as well be back there fighting for my life, I don't want to leave my brothers behind. I want it to end, this cycle of pain. I want to feel useful, and whole once again.