lying awake

she lies awake and wonders where it went
the glow that once surrounded who she was
for all the hidden talents she’s misspent
for random choices, lacking a “because”

in stillness now, she thinks of one mistake
her mother’s eyes with tears were dabbed and flecked
for all that woman’s faults, for goodness sake
she didn’t merit wanton disrespect

but now, her mother gone beyond her reach
the tears beset her eyes, and she feels shame
the lessons only loneliness can teach
when there is no one else that’s left to blame

but she’s no worse than most: it’s how she’s built
to lie awake awash in waves of guilt

No Matter

(Trigger warning: attempted suicide. – Owen)



The lights in that apartment
Turned every night
Into a lonely night

There were also other lights:
Neon lights a block away,
Where drunken men and women
We’re getting together at the bars
Or on the dance floors

50 yards from them,
65 yards from the ocean,
I discovered:
No matter how much
Companies individually wrapped
Sleeping pills

I could still swallow all of them



(Those were dark times for me. – Owen)

On The Heights

Oh, no. There’s no depression anymore.
All that despair, it’s really so jejune —
I have a lot to do, and I’m content.
There’s work enough for even a buffoon
To rise before the sun, and tame the moon.
Don’t look into my eyes, there’s nothing there;
There’s no depression anymore — I swear.

Oh, yes. I still hear voices, that’s just me.
But what I never talk about’s not real —
I am contented with my lot in life,
What isn’t mine to ever have, or feel,
Is just, you know, a thing, a minor deal.
A mortal starts whatever, then it ends;
I still hear voices, but — they say they’re friends.

I dreamed I saw a ribbon by the sea;
A highway full of peaceful, distant lights —
It’s rare I dream these days, or even sleep.
I’ve lost, I think, my battle with the nights;
But for that moment, I was on the heights.
I know that dreams are trivial. I do.
But somehow, what’s not real can still be true.

I wake to darkness, check my phone for time,
And lumber up, where no one sees or knows —
I cast a fishing line out on the ‘net,
But all is silent, as the river flows.
And day by day, a nameless something grows
Outside this room, in people’s thoughtless taunt:
That I have everything a soul could want.

But all of that is silliness. I move
Into the gears that grind throughout my day,
And show up at the place they pay me to,
And serve my minor truths up on a tray.
I stop to throw some words down, just for play:
They echo in my head, these little posts —
And all of it is silliness,
And ghosts

Drips of Oil

We see our each reality
Through lenses of desire
That frame eventuality
And lead us far-from-higher

It’s all an aberration, though:
Just drips of oil, pooling,
We try to light, although they be
Just fantasy and fooling

So every day, the cycle goes,
And there’s no breaking free:
The wasted lost desire world
Of ugly men

Like me

The Constant Battle

Her back hurts, so she cannot rest,
And work is suffering these days;
She’s daily there, within a haze
Travailing, tired and depressed

But when she can, she breaks away;
She sits alone somewhere offsite,
And for one moment, doesn’t fight
The constant battle that’s today