#330
i promised myself that
i wouldn’t drink it.
That empty, sugary, shitty poison.
i know better, but then there’s
that familiar, welcomed,
pop, clack, and hiss. The
opening moments before my lips
touch- seconds amount to nothing
against my thirst.
Emptiness filling emptiness.
i just expect more of my self,
than to watch time and time again
as i slip into that stupid trap,
sip that naive thought.
Forgiveness comes with the deeper
intent. It’s not escapism
when you’re drinking in another,
trying to drown in the idea of love
we grew up with. The love we we’re
promised, the long all look for,
even those too stubborn to admit it
to themselves.
Yet it doesn’t come in the sipping,
it comes in the sharing. In the now
i’ll be the fountain, not the void.
Water, we are it, time like a river,
we roll like oceans, transforming
from puddles to clouds, to rain again,
we nourish, we’re consumed, we rise.
#331
A slow dragging weight
sits atop my eyelids as the
day’s aches come ringing in
below my knee caps. i long for
my absurd, uncomfortable dreamscapes,
and avoid thinking of the long
night of avoiding automatic sprinklers
while resting on park benches ahead of me.
Last night was cold.
My journey mad.
i can pretend to like it
for only so much longer. i await
the winds of change that will
carry me across the Atlantic.
Anxiously. Patiently.
#332
The cancerous beat
pulsating in forward memories
handcuffed to my false judgements
manifesting me to that i loathe.
i am a product and it bothers me.
In my urgency i misread
the marked signs and now
i'm certain to be on the
wrong path, in the shadow of
the mountain, in a starving cold.
Only fury to clothe me.
#333
Such humbles, such stumbles
days spent choking down bitter truths,
smogging disappointments,
false friendships, and pleasantries
spoke from the envious eyes.
i really don’t mind.
Why not shrug off the grave,
return responsibility for
trivial dreams and adventures
instead?
Heave ho! Heave ho!
i am but a fool
blooming amongst them all.
#334
Who can really read it,
or know through the banter,
the waltz of friends and lovers
danced by those with nothing
but four on the floor.
The smiles, the play, but
what does it add up to
at the end of the day?
Thanks for joining! Find poems through out the week on my instagram @monsieurwrite
Don’t forget to check out the poems being recited on The Write Stuff podcast!
Take care, call your family, tell them you love them.
wazoo!
-Mr. Write