Solitude’s Song (Senile Ramblings from a wise old homeless man pt 4)

I’ve sat here for hours now, watching her dance under that lamp post like it was a spotlight and the stars hanging over our heads were an audience. Her clothes limp,dirty and draped on her slander figure – in my eyes she’s living proof that free will in the modern world is an attainable farce. Only attainable to the delusional and insane, the rest of us just try to grasp the air with our hands, forgetting that is what our lungs were made to do. We’re trying to live with our fists and brains but life was meant to be lived by our hearts and souls. As we corner the 21st century, the identity of humanity is as fragile as ever. People like me and her are keloid scars, we’re tough, ugly and we were invented out of something broken. She twirls and twists around like old mother on her axis, cyphering her movements into data recording itself onto my pupils and this record doesn’t skip.

She breathes deep. Each breath serves as its own form of communication – a conversation being constantly conducted between human and universe. The universe pings at us in question – ‘are you there?’  and humanity replies in a single collective sigh (*yessss*) though we’re all barely breathing. Neither of us can be mistaken as the corporate type who’s satisfied to play grab ass with a stress ball when frustration rears its filthy face. No – for us love was a burden, sight was a burden, joy was a burden which all led to regret and we’d try to escape our responsibilities to our yokes by dulling the brightness with a little substance abuse. We made new homes out of the streets of the city and we lost so much of ourselves that it cannot be forgiven and forgiveness is not in this cities capacity. We’re keloid scars though – we come from the wounded cracks of the city in pain, trauma and hurt in which we are made much more horrible to look at but stronger. She dances to the first humans song, a rendition made anew by persecution and neglect. She dances to solitude’s song.

Random rants from a reasonable man

Hello fellow citizens of cardboard shanty town. It is I, your mayor. I know it has been a long time since you’ve heard anything from me but I have been extremely busy – doing nothing in particular. Have you ever been asked if something makes sense and you agree that it makes sense but inside your heart of hearts, you know that it doesn’t make sense. You can make more sense from the silence than the emotionally unintelligible garbage that he’s speaking. He is making sentences not sense. You just want to nod your head and be left alone so it doesn’t throb any more from trying to understand – not what he is saying but why he is saying it. You look up from your empty coin cup into his disapproving gaze. Its so robotic and inhuman but oh so contempt filled  and you think:” brother, why are you so white washed and mechanical?” A shake of the head is all you’ll receive as an answer and you’ll ask yourself if there is something wrong with you for having emotions. Now listen, this is where it gets important. You can disregard everything I’ve ever told you but not this part. Note it down if you need to, God knows most of  our memory circuits are fried up by substance abuse. We’re animals but we’ve not only clothed our skin but we’ve learnt how to clothe our souls and apathy has been in fashion for such a long time. So many of us seldom walk around internally naked and cruelty is one of our most favoured garments.  We carry the past in our pockets and use it to pay for our daily sadness. I know I’m just a barely audible whisper in a field of loud explosions going off but with every breath I breathe, I have paid my rent and for my right to rant. I hope that these words hit something soft and mutable because they’ve been echoing and bouncing off clanging metal and brass lately. Anyway, as you were…..

Pervert (pt1)

The city pulsates like a stress induced migraine

,humming to the percussion of every commuters foot steps.

Its hand loops and strings sunlight into a  needle that stitches

sky together along with earth as the cities clothes.

This city isn’t worthy of such expensive garments

paid by the wages of human souls.

Its fat, bloated and corrupt with a gluttony for innocence

I feel its polluted breath grind against the

interior of my lungs

There’s no way, you can escape a discussion with the city clean

and unscathed

No matter how brief your visit is, it will always take something from you,

Leaving you tainted and perverted with its dirty blood stained hands.

Shards and splinters (The roof is gone)

I’m desperately trying to piece you back together

my hands shake in nervous, desperate tremors,

bloody from the cuts your sharp edges left.

Its like I’m lost and I’m trying to make my way back to you,

but someone closed the doors, dusted the footprints off and ate the bread crumbs

I cant fix you, please tell me how to fix you!

I’ve been fumbling frantically over your bloodstained mangled body for days now.

No, that’s not it! I think I came close this time..

but my memory of what you were and how you looked is chewed up between

the sleep deprivation and stress

I want it to be over with, the glue wont stick.

I tried sleeping but the day just plays over in my head

hands shuffling pieces, sticky with blood and glue

I should of known when the cracks started showing

that I was breaking you,

not using you correctly.

I skipped the manual, left it unread, confident

that my brain would pick it up along the way

and though I didn’t know what I was doing, my pride wouldn’t

let me admit it.

Love looked intuitive. Everyone was doing it and I didn’t

realize that most of them were doing a shitty job at it

until now. I loved you to seem fashionable,

not realizing that it wasn’t the proper way to love

I mishandled your heart, didn’t follow your careful instructions

when you lent it to me.

Just pretended I was listening

And I’ve made a mess of it and you.

The roof around my cardboard box is gone

withered apart into shards and splinters

And I’ve been nursing your broken heart since

the start of winter

with my hands covered in scars, blood and blisters

And I just cant heal you and I cant love you enough  – I,

I’ve been trying but I cant get myself back together again,

No matter how much I try