Oh, the famed American dream
My father has spoken of thee
And all the places you’ll take me
If I invest in the studies
I’ll surely earn my dime
With a job I adore
And a family for whom I can provide
But, as my hairs grow grey
I realize I’ve been sorely led astray
To a job I abhor
And a wife who walked out the door
A worthless degree that put me in debt
A stack of bills I cannot forget
The child support I struggle to meet
A challenge just to stay on my feet
Oh, the American dream
Where are the riches you promised me?
This lifestyle we did not agree
Such unhappiness I did not foresee
Yes, the American dream
It was my father who once spoke of thee
With such glee, he said nothing but good would happen to me
On the edges of dusk and dawn
We pirouette in the twilight
In the in-between, in the unknown
Daring the future
Tempting the past
Fleeing the present
If I could dance in this limbo, eternally
Believe me, I would
But eventually someone always
Turns the light on.
The ghost of you haunts me;
That strange feeling of being watched
The whispers that remain when the wind dies
The shivers in the absence of cold
The things you never said are unforgettable
Those words; tattooed across broken bones
And flowing through torn veins.
They have left their mark.
And what of you now?
The shadow you have become.
I feel your pain in the backs of my eyelids
Your scars cross over mine,
Becoming part of me
Your light smile speaks volumes
As does the small talk you now make
I never asked why you were leaving
I couldn’t question the choices “perfection” makes
In the night, I carry my flagon of need
& one flashlight. You wade & squeeze
into the accident of twisted metal,
bare hips. You salvage the bony humans.
In the backseat, a cat is giving birth.
I name the kittens Mist & Clover.
I try to save the mother with dripping kindness,
with my hard uneven breaths.
It was one fine wintry morning
The type with sun and dew
Through my window, outside was calling
But fast asleep were you.
My insomnia made me stop and stare
At the silent corpse of yours
Your skin, quiet as the wintry air
So I exited through the oak doors.
I caught a bus out onto the moors
It was grim, cold and need of colour
A scenery that often bores
Then rain fell, making it even duller.
And it was just me
As the weather
I stayed out all night,
Till the sun rose again,
And everything was mediocre.
Lord, tell me
Sunlight, swell me-
What is the point in this?