It's funny

a few simple words with familiar names thrown in and suddenly

it seems like I'm drowning all over again, or at least trying 

to stay buoyant

and it seems as though I'm just not

                   trying                                that hard

anymore.

Something in me wants to give. Something in me is tired of all this and wants it to end

ending meaning more than just how someone walks out of a frame 

we are talking about more than just

                momentary                                 helplessness

because living in the moment, trying to cast a moment as something stretching beyond its own boundaries

doesn't

         fucking

                         work out

and what we're left with is a kind of limbo going beyond

the shattered highball glasses and meaningless ramblings powered and conceived purely by need

One moment we're cruising and the next it's a train wreck.

There're flames, there is nausea and there is the impact of futility

slamming into you like

            a pitcher of            something. I can't remember what. It was spiked, I remember that much

This is about more than just the old scars and my unwillingness to pick away the scabs

                                   but let's pretend it is. Let's pretend, for a moment, that this is all moonshine and 

malt whisky fumes on a chilly evening

before the broken glass, before the jagged streaks of blood and my unwillingness to say good night,

I'll see you when I see you.

Loopholes everywhere, little portals I leave open

so it can all come back. Saying THIS IS A BAD ENDING

                                    and me caving and admitting that

I am not yet broken. Not completely.

Silence falls among the al fresco tables as I lean in to say my piece. Silence. It is silence

that will stir our thoughts and stifle our tongues, maddening yet oddly welcome. Silence. It seems right.

Tables returning to what they were, a harsh ringing emptiness

as I nurse a stone-cold latte

with a mind           dark yet blank as the eye of the storm

flashing glimpses of rain, amid thoughts

                                             like fleeting rainbows.

Some people just need to 

get a fucking grip

on the context of             things

of people and what they are asking for

a backdrop which we need to somehow focus upon

This isn't anger; this is

an acute stab of frustration 

that some people can't see the bloody point of anything beyond these little agendas perched in front of their damned noses

they go for lightning-quick gratification, for a transient version of mirth 

we are talking here about a concept that remains about as credible as the legend of the fucking Sphinx

and yet here we are, watching yet another lemming buy in

lemming, lemming, lemming over the damn cliff

I'm sick of lemmings

sick of watching people going in circles

we claim to move on in life but somehow I highly doubt that being a complete jackass qualifies as having moved on 

and so

we're done here

and 

                   the cliff

                                  awaits

Sometimes we hate to be reminded

of the fact that our lonesomeness

is not

        pure

that we are tainted

by the distractions of this world and the failings of our preoccupied selves

not the solitude, but the inability to savour it as it should be which has us teetering over the brink

it just doesn't seem right. We find ourselves warring with the myriad flaws of personality and deficiencies of our peers 

and all this is to us but a collection of disparate, alien constructs with which we have no connection, no emotional understanding 

even as we undertake the business of conflict and the terror which ensues. We are detached, and yet we remain far from being alone

a strange limbo

of drifting in and among the tethers, being hard-pressed to push on without handholds to catch our breath

the collection of possibilities we keep getting forced to consider is what

terrifies us

shoving us face-down into the cesspools of mortality. The soul recoils at this, but is then deadened

as the insults get piled on thick and fast. We are thinking about others too

often

and there is no clarity in that. Clarity of self. Such are the things we forget