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,
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.