two poems, six years

1:58am sobriety:

What is this

           need to reject history;

  the need to self-animate,

 to self-sustain?

      white chip tokens of loneliness

               and porch swing longing…

    Once upon a time, I

          could love myself;

yet, as true as neurochemical changes

     yielding new identities,

  the past is no more real than—

        She is but an icon

    with a billion different names to learn

and I hate my face,

      photographs make this only too real.

    I just need someone to be there

                                     for me;

     but I’ve found no way to silence these

sledge hammer synapses pounding

   in echoed harmony

         with dopamine deficiency,

a ringing distraction in my hollowed out

                cranial cavity,

           like a gangrened ghost limb, still itching

to be cut off—

          I play.

      Love is just an organic compound;

               drink deep.

2:04am stumble:

Is this the last swig?  Just

      one last pull, another shot to the gut…

         a twinge of jealousy and

  I’m reeling. It’s just my way; or simply

      chemistry and biological drive.

   Tell me, when

                will I feel calm?

With time, head throbbing pound
      dulls to a hum, and
  red vision gives way to

      low light, eventual

  hindsight: I know I was wrong.

Apologies, broken wings,

   just two birds lost along their way home…

Cynicism tells me

     it’s just an evolutionary trick.

And yet, I yield.

    The icon has, now, only her face,

          only her tattoos…

Here’s my ten bleeding fingers

    cradling broken bottles, my

  bruised knuckle tokens of

     openness; yet, blood
  runs dry and scars, too, will fade

        like photographs kept

                 in shoe boxes,

     blacken to faint memory,

and she’ll shine in another sky.

Will I disappear?

As days go by,

 my mind clears, revealing me

        stunned

by my own reflection

      looking back

                    too clearly…

I swore I’d never go there, again;

   dragged myself down, friend,

    down, down, down,

                                  down.

Love is an organic compound;

       may our cups overflow.