A Room and A Chair


There is no conceivable measurement
Of the distance between where I am
From where I saw myself
A gulf of time and regret
Bad decisions and inaction
Old ghosts and fading memories
A scattering of busted toys
Tumbled about my feet, littering the floor
Around my chair.

Music plays faint and scratchy
Popping and hissing through the dusty silence
Voices that never fade out
Crackling reminders spinning out and on
Needle cutting tracks out of my fingerprints
Smudging bloody over skin
Smears of bright color across sepia
Twisting smokey though amber whiskey lense
Choking down fire to bitter ashes
We all do fall down…don’t we?

Rags and feathers
These instruments of faith and sex and God
Right, isn’t that how the line goes?
I was beautiful in my brokeness
But you twist yourself into those shapes of damage
And it sticks, limbs twisted
Into driftwood gnarled water carvings
Bones have memory and are hard to untangle
Too brittle, snapping under the weight of scrutiny.

Time passes like a razor
Slicing paper thin, peeling a rind
Of blank tape, spooling out
In meaningless ribbons just waiting
For a random spark
Something hungry to move from me to nothing
Faintly flickering orange greedy tongues
Leaving an empty chair
In a dusty room
With a scattering of busted toys at its feet.

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3 Responses to “A Room and A Chair”

  1. bright paint bad motor Says:

    Your act of writing is push-back against the misery being described; it is evidence that positive change demands energy. You have expended it ceaselessly in describing life viewed by one eye in a darkened room. Put it to better use. Others, only a breath away, are counting on you.

  2. benign shadow at your shoulder Says:

    So, you have arrived at a destination. Sounds like a version of hell. Know this from first hand experience too! Don’t stay, there are others and almost any one will be at least a bit better.
    You know this is true; vegetarian lions roaring in the night then we moved on.

  3. Took a ride tonight down the long road. At the end, just nature in its summer glory; thinking tree huge and unrecognizable.
    No room. No chair.
    No more sadness either. Life demands focus and truth.

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