Leaving a Mark

True or fake on the day break
Watching the world burn on its payday

My legs cry out in pain
for sunlight or similar
The distance from my head
to the ground in seconds

I'm losing my experience
As well as my patience

The walls wash in the rain
and beg for history
Pawn the possibilities
There's no guarantees

Standing up against the wall
Not standing up after all

Can't understand, but is it worth it?
Over estimate?
I want to curse it

[Draft Feb 23, 2011]

Hallelujah!

This could be another one of those days
Where absolutely everything is going my way
I said, hey ain't nothing gonna bring me down

There'll be no storm clouds to rain on my parade
Ain't nothing gonna bring me down

I've never felt so happy with L-O-V-E
What other word were you thinking of?
Are you great, are you wonderful, are you splendid?
I think it's all of the above.

So listen to my stories about sunshine-filled mornings
Ain't nothing gonna bring me down

Inhale the smell of sleep hanging on my pillows
Ain't nothing gonna bring me down

I've always wondered what would happen
If I tried to drive straight ahead?
Would there be a detour, a shortcut or something more?
I just hope you're there at the end

Because ain't nothing gonna bring me down!

Forgotten

I whispered to the moon, "Can you hear me?"

I needed to someone to listen in on what was weighing me down. For once, I didn't seem to care even though I was shackled to a brick wall awaiting a sentence. My jacket was now in shreds and the zipper ruined beyond repair, much how I felt. I was in a fight with myself with the stress and pressure closing in. Nothing much was new, but for some reason, those obstacles seemed to stay afar as though I had cast a shield around my soul. However, I knew that this was only a temporary solution. I wasn't strong enough to deal with this on my own.

My slender shadow flowed gently against the concrete floor as if to prove my point. You cannot allow shadows to define yourself. I'm not one to follow my own advice. I could still picture her face and wished she was next to me for support, if not help. I didn't realize how much I counted on her until now. I wouldn't dare reveal that, for fear she too would buckle under imaginary pressure.

Dignity was a luxury I couldn't afford, so I sat there and cried with no one to wipe my face. The salty tears crawled down my dirty cheeks, cleaning my battered face. There's nothing worse than silently suffering.

Any moment now, I was to be unchained and forced to put a bold line through my name in the roster, initiating my "resignation" from The Underground. There wasn't much time left, and I was trying to make the most of it. I revisited the best times of my life. An escape plan wasn't possible, and because I ignored that possibility, I relived those times we sat on the porch swing and the visits in the basement of that broken home. They were all gone, and soon I would join them among the forgotten victims of a civil war.

I saw hope in that full moon and looked up to it in search of an answer.

Driver Tonight

I look at the clock, it's 11:45
I'm waking up with you by my side
Trapped inside this travelling car
Head against the glass looking up at the stars

You're the only one I want to drive with tonight
You're the only one that can drive me right
You take the hill roads nice and easy
So I don't get super queasy
Be my driver tonight

I never know where we go
The map's a myth so let's ride real slow
Let's travel on despite conditions
Let's fight for our own traditions

Because you're the only one I want to drive with tonight
You're the only one that can drive me right

Looks like we're lost, but we're following the streetlights
Don't wake up the neighbors though you probably wouldn't mind

Can we pull over?

Evergreen

I'm walking down the hall
and I see your pretty face
And if I fall for you
I'll put my arms out just in case

I find myself asking
Will we ever meet again?
Was this our first goodbye?
Or was it just coincidence

Sometimes I wonder
If you're a witness to my blunders
Then again sometimes I don't care

There's no rhyme or reason
to my little acts of treason
It's part of my cross to bear

You're the courtesan of cute
and I've got everything you need
But it's not something
that you want

Showers

Her name was Rain
and she smelled like the after math
of a hundred storms upon
my backyard
The dew, the perfect accent
to my perfect evening
The one I spent with
Rain
Lost in the middle of nowhere
Falling apart in the needles of her
lost desire
Her heart, beating against mine
Beating against my chest like the
Rain

Is this love shallow like the waters we frequent?
Is this excessive or simply misunderstood? The End.

Rain, here it comes, pouring on me like a sudden rest.
Drenching me enough to sleep in your presence, Rain

So it goes

The book was filled with the names of everyone who was there or at one point in time there. It was worn and the pages crisp and slightly stained from age. The names were written in red pencil by those who were there. Although hundreds or thousands appeared to pass through, the book was far from full. The names filed into two columns. Two columns per page. Twenty names per column. As he flipped through the book, he noticed the crossed out names of those who passed through this very hallway. Prisoners to be executed were to cross their own name out as if to check out. It was a cruel punishment to delete oneself from existence. One down, hundreds to go. The names were ordered in the name they would arrive, which didn't necessarily meant it would be the same leaving.

He was pushed forward and had his knees taken out from under him. His tattered jacket fell around his shoulders from the sharp rip in its back. The hood molded to the back of his head, offering only the smallest sense of security. He gave up trying to maintain his posture and relaxed his spine so his hair touched the floor. Then he touched his face to the concrete. His rested his nose on a crack. It was cold.

Someone in black pushed him forward so he fell sideways and slowly pulled his legs closer to his body. Fluorescent lights turned on. They flickered for an eternity before finally settling in a glowing position. They didn't help his disposition but instead illuminated the slimed green walls that were in desperate need of repair. They weren't forgotten, but were not acknowledged. Those walls were expected to last and so they did. Whoever was with him had evidently left. He thought he heard a subway train go by, screeching along, transitioning flawlessly through the confluence of the metal tracks. It was only the wind by his ears. The milieu was stationary in time and could have existed in any number of decades. The Underground was a museum dedicated to the assumed.

His eyes watered, but he didn't cry. He closed his eyes although it pained him. Suddenly, the real world had become scarier.