a lonely night, the fat cat hotel, and I.

bleed, why don't you?
for the one love you'll never profess,
i think it's time that you confessed.

the cheap glass thorns on the hotel floor,
why don't you tell them?
tell them how you always wanted more.
an easier road,
and a high, higher than all the ones you'd had before.

are you scared to?
i thought you liked the gore,
you built them with your own bottles, didn't you?
broke that nice little blue vase, too.

talk to your mistakes,
i'm sure they're just waiting to hear,
so tell them why you hate me,
tell them how you need me,
this isn't about fear.

because you like to ache, don't you?

scream, why don't you?
you'd be surprised by how much they actually hear,
but you like to save face,
and i know you'd want me near,
you like being a fake,
don't you?

you're not a freak of nature,
you're just a liar,
and i'm so fucking sick,
of putting out your fires.

take a little breath, why don't you?

the night doesn't lie,
and neither do i,
welcome to your thoughts,
through and through,
by and by.

[sleep doesn't always come easy. sometimes, my mind is an ugly old man withering away in a dusty hotel, breaking bottles and throwing fits, until he scares himself to sleep.]

~scroll for footnote

this poem is a lot gnarlier than the ones I usually post on here. so, I thought I'd take a moment to take you through the process.

Sleep isn't always a kind visitor. sometimes She doesn't really visit, at all. that's when our story begins. that's when my mind begins to wander. like an old man pacing the four corners of his dimly lit hotel room. he's lived a long life. and the only trade-off life ever made him, was hand him a bag full of regrets for his time on Earth.

and regrets? he's got quite a few. how he never told that person he loved them. how he never paid his old friends back. how he was withering away before he even got here. my mind, ever the old man, grabs a bottle, takes a gulp and smashes it against the floor. oh, and that nice little blue vase, too. he's rich, a fat cat, he can afford it. he stumbles, grumbles, and battles with his own guilt. he doesn't just drown in his misery, he pulls out receipts. he thinks of the things that will haunt him till the clock stops ticking. he scares himself till he eventually tires. and when he tires? that's when i start to fall asleep.

a lonely night, the fat cat hotel and i.

I’m Afraid I May

I feel like the best words are the ones I don't say.
Too afraid to ask,
I'm afraid I may.

In fleeting glances,
You gave me several chances.
I shouldn't have walked away.

If I gave you my hand,
And didn't say a word,
Would you still take it?
If you did,
From the silence,
I know I'd stray.

These hands are as much yours as they are mine.
For a dance,
A stroll,
A quick squeeze before the next chance.
Once upon a time,
In these palms,
yours did lay.

I wish I could show you all that I see,
In all the nothing I say.

What if our eyes meet again?

Too afraid to ask,
I'm afraid I may.


today, it is the lack of productivity.
tomorrow, I don't know what it'll be.
everyday something sets off a slew of panic,
and everyday I have no one to blame but myself.
and that can't be right,
can it?

can it?

I keep counting down the days,
hoping I'll reach a red cross down the line,
something to look forward to,
something to celebrate,
but I can't help but think,
it'll end up being,
just another day.

the promise of tomorrow brings with it,
a constant churning,
looking at checklists,
how many deadlines does tomorrow owe?
will I be okay tomorrow?
how many days do I owe,
to this same promise of tomorrow?

today, it is the lack of productivity.
tomorrow, I don't know what it'll be.

an ever-shifting red cross on an ever-shrinking calendar.

I keep counting down the days,
to just another day.

I keep counting down the days,
to a different slew,
a new brew,
and yet,
a constant, aging panic.

I Was Only Ever Good At Crashing Parties

I was only ever good at crashing parties,
And staying holed up in places I didn’t belong.
Leaving traces, then changing faces,
I know I wish I never crashed yours.

I’m guilty,
In more ways than one,
I know, but it hasn’t exactly been fun.
Maybe I scared you,
I didn’t mean to.
This was supposed to be a fresh start, after all.

Even if it was the ninth clean slate I'd pulled out that year -
To you,
I was new.

I’ve been party to the same kind of politics that tore apart,
My young, foolish, twelve-year old dignity,
I was seeking some kind of sick vengeance.
I didn’t think I had it in me,
But it looked like I’d found my party.

I'd underestimated the damage that I could do.

But to you,
I was new.
Bright and shiny, I was ready,
To see how much better I could be.

Nothing helps you find a disguise like self loathing does,
I’d played the new girl trope enough,
Abandon ship, skip town,
New face, new person,
Every single time that things went south.
There was no better time to skip the act,
And play the one part,
I was actually terrible at.

I wish I could say that went well,
It didn’t.
I thought vulnerability would be the lesser enemy,
Help me ease into my pain, make me feel less guilty,
Talk about all the other parties I’d deserted.

I struggled,
But I wasn’t going to lead myself astray.

Just when I finally felt like I’d made the climb,
There came another wave of pain,
That I simply didn’t know how to explain.
And yet, there I was, the picture of vulnerability,
Sobbing, sputtering,
Trying to get you to reach back out to me.

I wish I could say that went well,
It didn’t.
I guess I’d earned my first karmic branding,
At least I was still standing.

But what about you?
You close one door, it opens another.
Maybe I had it coming,
But when you hear that quivering voice at night,
I know it’ll remind you of me.

- a

just for the night

if you'd like,
we could make believe,
hide in the dark,
and live in pretence,
just for the night.

or if you'd prefer,
we could bleed,
or burn,
let it bruise,
and feel it all,
just for the night.

and if you'd let me,
I'd help you heal,
watch you fly,
feel you glow,
do it all,
just for the night.

oh won't you take my hand?
just for the night.

I know the time is never right ,
but won't you stay around?
just for the night.

I know it seems hard,
but maybe we could be alright?
just for the night.

sometimes constancy seems like the only way to cope and sometimes opening yourself up to every knocking emotion and letting it wash over you is another. this poem is about both. it’s about living life a step at a time. it’s about uplifting people and making a friend of yourself.

– a