somethinghastomatter
Something Has To Matter
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I’ve tried to lift you
up,
fearing for your fall.
Every time I exposed my hand
to the swarming pack
I’d pull it back,
bloodied and bruised,
afraid and confused.
Now I see the truth
and it pains me more than the
cuts.
There never was a pack,
just one big Rat.
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I fucked myself,
I truly did.
Acted on impulse
like an ignorant kid.
I’m angry and wounded
and it’s all my fault.
Consequences are coming
for the existential assault.
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Can’t look you
or anyone else
in the eyes.
If that connection is made,
recognition to pain,
the dam could break
and no one knows
what happens after that.
Breaking is already
so uncomfortable.
Can’t imagine doing it for an audience.
Salvation in
isolation.
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Take from them all they have
then tell the husks what they’re worth.
I believe in earned bounty
but I wonder where it is.
Kings and queens sing its grace
yet they’re not keen on sharing.
Anger fills my empty belly
as the lazy berate our hunger.
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I get nervous when it rises,
bubbling under my skin.
Great effort is expended
silencing the savage roars.
I don’t want it near people,
especially the ones I love.
Then another loss weighs on me
and my restraints bend a little further.
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I feel what I know
coming to an end.
Time flowers faster
the more of it I spend.
I think of laughs
with family and friends
and cherish them for a moment
in these words that I’ve penned.
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We dream of nobility.
Not of masochism
but of some cause that recognizes our
suffering
and the need for a why.
We dream of a greater meaning
than endurance, than passivity.
A life defined by the good that comes after
the evil that dares to define us.
We dream because even when dreams
mean nothing
we know the importance of something.
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I know they’re trying to explain,
I just wish they’d turn the volume down.
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On. Off.
On. Off. On. Off.
Static crackles with each
unexpected flip,
disorienting my understanding of
what is.
There’s too much to make sense of,
like deciphering coded language to the tune of white noise.
No rhyme or reason
which means no luck fixing it.
Can’t hear myself think
but
every so often a scream gets through.
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I exist.
And I matter.
Ask me what I’m up to
and I’m madder.
I can’t believe.
Seem to forgot how.
My chin is up.
But all I see is now.
A future sounds nice.
A nice future would be great.
Imagine having one.
Imagine having a fate.
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It’s loud in here.
Can’t hear clear.
Don’t know what to say.
Me? I’m ok.
No, really. Taking it
day by day.
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Nothing goes as planned,
you can count on that.
Still I dare demand,
can’t help it honestly.
Every day I make a stand,
every night I’m on my ass.
I’m not saying life’s never grand,
but sometimes I feel small.
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I know I can sound cold,
or stubborn with my points.
Even when you are stressed,
there’s grace in your voice.
Pure things are usually just that way,
whether someone’s looking or not.
That doesn’t make it less important
to appreciate them as we should.
In no vague terms or passive form
do I thank you for who you are.
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Tired of the way you pray for peace
while kicking and screaming.
You’re full of shit
and I’m out of patience.
I left it all the same place
I gave my last fuck.
In your empty words,
soaked in crocodile tears.
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