One for the Money

I am sitting here contemplating the meaning of life
I am disabled from the three ton weight on my shoulders
I can’t even stand up straight any more
One for all the misdeeds of the past
One fore the present
One for the future
I have no life in me any more
I can’t see me in the mirror
I can only see the molds
One for what I should be
One for what I should become
One for who I should talk to
I can’t read anymore
I can’t write anymore
I am forever stuck in the monotonies of my life
One for the closed door
One for the window
One for the locked closet
I am forcing every thing
I have nothing real anymore
I am cursing the blinking curser
One blink for reminder
One blink for urging
One blink for mockery
I am fearful of what can not be feared
I am falling off a three feet cliff
I hit the bottom over and over
One time for messing up
One time for an inevitable mess up
One time for the hell of it
I am punishable by death
I wish I did something wrong
I have nothing on the surfaces
One for cover up
One for protection
One so no one ever knows
I need a knife to cut this
I need to get away
I need to break down the walls
One in front stopping me from advancing
One to the right preventing a duck around
One to the left as a last resort
I turn around and go back
I relive the death and pain
I go all the way back to all my pasts
One for the suicide
One for the tears
One for the trauma

Right, Wrong, and Death

It was said, a long time ago, that perfection is not possible, that only one who can be serene with himself as he was born is perfect and that said perfection is only obtained in the mind of a man, not the form, thoughts, or actions. Yet society strived to be perfect and wanted every one to follow. Models were tall, sculpted, beautiful in every way imaginable, and became the role models of the world’s youth. Intelligence over stupidity, beauty over ugliness, height over stunted growth. These are what the leaders, the owners, the thinkers, the role models, all wanted and there for what every one else wanted. Perfect. It is only natural to want beauty, brains, and kindness in a mate and there for this is what is socially acceptable. After the out-lawing of same sex relations one who doesn’t follow the unwritten code of what is and what isn’t Socially Acceptable is instantly ostracized and casted out of said society. This is what the world has come to. This is the world that our fathers’ fought, died, and worked hard to make for us. This is the world that I live in.
But how, you ask, can one such as yourself feel this way? How can a truly perfect being feel that it is wrong to love and even worship perfect people? Because I, unlike you and your damned “Society”, am human. I feel things. I think things. And I do not follow any one that I am morally opposed to. Now you ask how can a killer, a being that was made for the destruction of other human beings, have things such as morals. This is how; we will all die. Weather it be today, tomorrow, next week, in fifty years or a hundred makes no difference. What you do on your last day on this retched earth does not make you who you are. It is what you have done in the past that matters. If you were ever asked “What will you do on your last day on Earth?” you should be able to respond “Nothing different than what I have done for the past twenty”. What you do is who you are and one damn day can’t, won’t, and never will change that. So, yes I am a killer, yes I have morals, yes I believe in right and wrong. But it is I who makes these morals, not society. It is I who decides what is right and wrong for myself. To decide for any one else would be a mental dictatorship and that is wrong, in my opinion.

Piano Man

Ivory on ivory, her slender fingers moved smoothly across the glistening keys of the piano. The composition was that of her own and it was for me, I knew that from the passion that she was playing with, but it was…well, it was sad, to say the least. Deep, depressing, hitting my soul like it were a bass drum and the music the padded mallet (though I still wonder how padded that mallet was this particular instance). I could not deny the beauty of it, for it was just that, but I could also not deny the emotion that it awakened in me like nothing else I had ever experienced. It may have been for me but it was by no means about me or our relationship in any way what so ever. Be that as it may, she kept playing as if it was, as if the piece that she had written was in fact a narrative of us, for nothing other the topic of our relationship had ever ignited a passion such as what I witnessed that day.
She ended it with a rather dramatic low key that hung in the air for several long moments while she sat, eyes closed and fingers poised as if she was not done. But then she set those delicate hands on her knees and hung her head, the effort it took to play like what she had just done too much for her already weakened soul. I went to her then, as quickly as I could I went to her side and lent her my shoulder to weep on, for I could do naught else to comfort the only being that has ever touched my heart the way that the late Christian had touched hers. Maybe I was wrong, maybe the piece was written for me after all but about him. Yes, that makes much more sense. How silly of me to think that she actually cared about me the way that she had done so towards him. He was, after all, her first true love, and I know as well as the next man that those are the hardest to forget, if indeed you ever do. I could never forget her the way that I am asking her to forget him. How damned selfish of me to think in such a way.

NOTICE

Ok, here's the deal; I have these really desrciptive shorty blups that I want some feedback on so this is no longer a poetry only blog. Hope you all enjoy these and for any one who is angry with me for giving into temptation and putting non-poetry on my blog, these do sort of have a poetry-ish vibe to them so deal with it.