Screaming mind into overdrive on this lust sweat-drenched night
heartbeat away from mine
see the hands of strangers all around
all over her figure over the years as I sat desolate
alone in the room
mattress on the floor
haunted by desolation and loneliness, afraid to touch and feel
know the artificiality we’re all plagued by…
jacking off with my Russian literature and doom-laden existential tomes pretending to be a quantum Buddhist in a sick layer of Zen hatred
I didn’t die all this way not to live
dying over and over
to live in a hungry yearning
sitting with the bottle alone
waiting between car repairs
wondering “what’s the use?”
until it stopped
that’s it, you’re going to do it, breathe, fuck it, ruin it, decimate feeble brains, make your mark
or that’s what I thought
guilt-stricken on the cold kitchen floor
fridge buzzing, blurred,
where was I?
vodka bottle empty
another fifth of something broken
dried brown drink on the floor
glass shards in my face
the first time it hit
my mother was dead
how maybe she never loved
she loved to torture her son
cleaning her shit and piss, as she said, “something’s wrong here, you don’t have anyone.”
Remembering how you toyed with her insulin to see how close you could get her to death, to the point of begging?
How she wept.
How they kept you from going to school.
Kicked you out after you took ecstasy.
Gave you a meal
set you out on your ass with nothing but the clothes on your back and the car you bought?
Why do these revelations come at the worst of times?
during the best moments of now?
On the point of building something great
or shall we burn it all down now?
After reflection comes bare resolve or a grand conflagration. – mh clay