Yo-yo

 Pulling me in,

Pushing me out,

And when the times comes,

Yanking me back. 

A yo-yo.

A tango.

One that has made me dizzy.

One that I'm willing to cut the string.

Midnight Ramble

Intuition is the most beautifully dangerous thing.

Couple that with honesty,

And experience distaste.

Distaste is natural,

And respectable.

But so is brutal honesty.

Even when unprompted.

If honesty was only sung,

When prompted.

So much truth would yet to be uncovered.

Truth is not always painted in gold.

Sometimes it is slathered in pain.

Maybe that means all truth mustn't be spoken.

Mystery Misery

 She said there was a mystery about me,

That I was alluring, 

Like I should know...

Maybe I did.

Maybe I do.

Maybe that is what feeds my soul.

I feel the hunger for attention creeping it.

Keep telling me what I know deep down.

Keep feeding the sickness.

Winter Monsoon

 An anomaly.

February,

Laying on my living room floor.

Bare faced, no bra, and hair tangled from the whipping desert wind. 

Windows open.

The trees violently dancing...

Their favorite thing to do.

They don't do it enough. 

In the distance I hear sirens, 

It reminds me of the city at 2am after a late night of whiskey, drag queens, and lesbians in flannel... probably in the fall.

Parts of my bare skin exposed.

Toes, shoulders, neck, and face.

Chilled in a beautiful way.

Eyes sore from the realization of seemingly my only fear, after a silent, gut wrenching cry.

My sister in the other room, asleep on my bed. My former lover, and best friend holding me as I hyperventilate and shake. Honestly "best friend" doesn't even describe what either of these two women are to me. They are my family. They are my home. They are my heart and soul.

I try to not wake the one, while the other holds me through my pain. 

I cannot fathom losing anybody else this close to me. After the loss of my mom, I just... can't.  And THAT is my biggest fear. Losing these two other women... losing my baby brother, losing my dad... I literally just can't.  

To ever have to endure this pain again is unfathomable. So I cry, for the first time in my life, afraid of something...

And I simply let the night sky hold me, while the violent winter monsoon winds whip through my window and kiss me passionately. My tears fall like the heavy, dangerous rain.

It probably isn't even considered a monsoon anyway...

Drifting is a Wish

 Insomnia again,

My demise- stripping me from dream land...
A land of wildly beautiful freedom and peace.
I wish to drift,
Deeply,
Inhibitions stripped.

No Sleep

 Can't sleep.

All I see is your face. 

All I hear is your voice.

All I crave is your touch.

Your warm embrace, that reminded me that everything would be OK.

Your words of comfort when I was lost.

No words I read or hear, can fill this aching hole in my chest.

My heart seems missing.

I've tried to calm the deafening silence, to no avail. 

I grasp at air, trying to hold onto the sound of your voice...

While gasping for air, to feed my tattered, tired, traumatized lungs.

Heat physically manifests in my body as it tries to muster up the strength to carry on... moment by moment , day by day.

I have never known a heartache so strong. I have never felt an emptiness so deep... and yet, I've had the most fierce hunger for life and adventure, that I've ever had.

Guide me.

Please guide me.

Wondering and Horrified

 Sick.

So fucking sick.

Face in the toilet bowl, 

Puking my guts out... forcefully and willingly at the same time.

Wondering, 

"Why did I drink so much tequila?"

"Did I drink that much tequila?" 

Periodically laying on the cold, hard vinyl flooring that looks like dark wood.

My face hitting the sweats I wore the night before. Feeling, disgusted in myself.

I hadn't "drunk puked" in a while, it has definitely been over a year. Why tonight? 

Because it was my first night out since my mom took her own life? Maybe.

Because so many people asked me what I was out "celebrating" and I would simply say "life"?

Because almost all of them, except the silly drunk young men, would see that my eyes were empty and lost as I forced a smile? 

My friend bought me a thirty minute private dance from a stripper, whose real name is Cheyenne, and all we did was talk. I didn't give her details, but she kept telling me "whatever is going on in your life, it is all going to be OK. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in your soul." 

Was I that readable?

"I'm an empath" she said, then explaining what an empath was, like I didn't know. Little did she know I was one too, which is why my soul is  painstakingly shredded.

The stripclub closed, and I found myself talking with an older gentleman. I wish I remember his name. He looked like a William or a Charles. He was an emergency room doctor, who frequented the club five days a week, spending over $800/ week on the dancer I just had a therapy session with. We spoke about poetry, as I drunkenly slurred that I was a "poet by night." 

Fascinated he inquired about my favorite poet. 

"Poe" is always my answer.  Dark, mysterious and ill. I lust after his demons.  "Blake is one of my favorites," he smirked while shaking his head. He told me, in the kindest way, that I was foolish for adoring Poe, since he was an alcoholic with severe depression... but that was the glamor that I adored in Poe's work. The glamor of his pain.

I hope we meet again, doctor. 

Your soul was kind, and welcoming to my foolish adorations. 

Fast forward to my bathroom floor.

The cool, hard floor.

I was drunk, so damn drunk and so damn sick. 

When I finally felt good enough to lay down, I felt like somebody wrapped their arms tightly around me. Letting me know I was held... as I drifted into the worst nightmare of my life.

I wonder if that's how mom felt every day... I sure hope not. Fuck.

I miss her.