Once upon a midnight dreary
Strange Love

We had a strange love,
one that you probably
have never read in a book,
or seen on a painted screen.
No, we were something else,
a sight to be seen.

We met years ago, randomly
constantly forgetting each other
in the crowds of strangers in
our separate towns, but then
one night at the bar, we spoke over
empty glasses of whiskey, and
compared our Star Wars tattoos,
laughing so loudly, we kept
the town awake until dawn.

Night after night we laid with our bare
backs pressed against the wooden deck,
taking swigs of that Tennessee poison we
love so dearly, while he taught me how
to blow smoke rings.
Somehow, we fell in love that night.
He said he adored my passionate writing,
how I gave words a whole new meaning,
something deeper, like my heart was speaking.

He never bought me flowers,
chocolates, or overstuffed animals
that made up for his mistakes or time away.
No, we were inseparable, we made dinner
together every night, throwing flour, flicking
milk, and tossing egg shells at each other
in the process, laughing until our sides ached.
Sometimes I’d wake up to breakfast in bed,
and often after work, I’d grab a bottle of whiskey
so we could drink our stress of reality away.

We loved each other, passionately,
and the thought of the future never
once frightened me into pushing him away.
We fought with conviction, rarely,
and one day I realized something strange.
That I couldn’t imagine living a day
without him in my life.
It was almost as if he had been here,
been with me, all along.

We had what some people called
a strange love, but you know what?
It was our love.

My Confession

Perhaps I pretend
to be unhappy, just
to add some sort of
dramatization to my
tragically simple life.

There are people
out there in the world
with real problems,
starving, dying,
struggling to deal with
the nightmares of life.
And here I am, in my
comfortable house,
sipping expensive whiskey
and crying over the
things in my life that
I can’t give a name.

I have made self loathing
my new profession,
and somehow that brings
a sense of peace to my mind.

But still, I wish there
was a way I could describe
my depression, with a fake
issue, disease, even death,
but there is no string of words
that can describe the empty
void buried deep in my chest
that keeps me awake at night.

Memories, my insanity

These memories are like
absent lovers, reappearing
in our lives, in our minds
to simply drive us insane.

I blame this empty bottle
in my hand on the deafening
silence ringing in my ears,
on the madness and resentment
creating a black cloud of
smoke in my frail lungs.

I waited for months, years,
poisoning my mind to erase
these images and moments
trapped there, begging each
bottle to please, ride me
of these pains that keep me
awake at night.

I just want to dream again.
These memories have found
a way to break me, so now
I wait only for death’s cold kiss,
the eternal slumber, my only
release from these sleepless
nights where sadly, you’re
all that’s on my mind.