The Trials and Tribulations of being an irrecoverably jaded Rogue Christian

A perennial absence presents itself in the way nobody should feel like.

It’s morning.

And within a few hours,

I do questionable acts,

Of logic, emotions, denial and procrastination.

Once again,

Time is relative.

While you’re out with McCoys and Normans.

I bow before the gods of dogs.

Don’t you hate how your eyes get teary?

Don’t you hate how the smell of it gets into your nostrils?

Don’t you hate it how you tend to cough it all out?

Don’t you hate it that slowly and surely, life is slipping or in this case nauseating it’s way out of you?

I need an anchor,

But too many of them have tentacles.

As I drive around in this small town that never seems to end,

A stench creeps about.

3 hours to go,

As I too.

“One forgets how it feels to have loved completely” – The Longest Winter.

I want these words to make things right but it’s the wrongs that make the words come to life.

Most shops are closed.

Town’s particularly empty.

And there’s a point to these words in regards of the things people say.

The Man on the radio is more informative than I thought,

Alerting for bullets to be dodged and Gods to be met with.

As usual I take no heed in his words.

As I wallow in my own hubris,

Today I make no effort to take chances,

And hopefully the Mainstream Man is exact in his news.

Little birdies that are too stoned from it all,

Little girls with their squirrel-like features can’t hold their tongues,

And commoners that are fast to unzip.

The return was on the same day,

Do you quell in your own efforts to undo?

Sometimes late is the only available time.

What you don’t know are the things I leave unsaid.

“Put him in the back of a squad car, restrain that man, he needs his head put through a catscan.” – Disloyal Order Of Water Buffaloes.

“Because all they have in common is the past.” – Elsewhere

And it still hurts.
From the way that I have to see you and him at the places we share in this same-old, small town that never seems to end.

And if anyone asked for a safe way out, I’d grab it.

At a bridge, off a cliff, a hose and my car with maybe too much benzadrine.

And have a safe trip.
We’re all leaving this town with small thoughts and heavier hearts.

“You can’t see a dream” – Death.

What meant the world had folded
like legs and fingers holding onto what escapes me;
what he has: a better kiss that never lasts.

You go to unwelcome places.

You come to a place you once called “home”.

You lie in bed at 3.

And for an hour the man in your head is running a marathon.

You get up at 4 and sit at the park to stare up to the empty sky in this starless city.

At 5 you try to go back to bed but it oh so very cold.

And at 6 your day resets, so you get ready to face another one.

2 more hours till college.

“Perfect boys with their perfect lives.”
And I’m trying.

So much to say but no words to convey
The loneliness building with each passing day
But I’m getting used to it, you have to get used to it.

You know that you’re going down, down in an earlier round when your own personal Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs starts to lose it’s lowest level.

“Cause every pane of glass that your pebbles tap negates the pains I went through to avoid you” – FOB.

That line doesn’t mean what you think it really says.

From the incapability of rising up,

To the 3AM anxiety attacks in the dark.

“Is he dark enough, enough to see your light?” – Accidental Babies

To the truth to the matter is that it does not really appear as it is suppose to be.

In fact, you are not really there and where it appears to be.

To what escapes me is the knowledge of the actions that are taking place this very moment.

From the locking and twisting of bodies and parts that come from broken promises.

And unfortunately, things are a little too literal.

I’ll devise the best disguise
A brand new look and take them by surprise
They’ll never guess what’s not inside

I drive by places that I used to know.

I drive by to see what I’m missing out on.

What a disaster it would be if you discovered that I cared
A little too much for friends but not enough to share.

And soon I will try to sleep that is not really a sleep,

In a home that is not really a home,

So that I may awaken to a life that is not really a life.

There’s so much to say
But no words to convey
The loneliness building with each passing day
But I’m getting used to it
You have to get used to it.

“Isn’t it messed up? How I’m just dying to be him?” – FOB.