When the Lights Went Out

I wouldn't say it was worship, but some such like that.
I'm trying to make you the hero. A habit, if you will. 
... You, yes, you.
Trying to ball you up, and push you into my archetype agenda.

I don't really remember too much about my childhood.
Probably for the best. 

I was visited by a memory, though. 
Of a really peculiar variety. 

My dad. 
I don't ever remember him being home. 
In the house that I grew up in
all too quickly. 

It came to me in the NighttiMe, 
to explain to me the errors and the onus. 
I can picture it in fragments. 

Sitting around a Monopoly board 
listening to the storm and hearing only music.
He said "lights out." 
and just as he commanded it, 
we lost the power.

Instant. Obedient. 
The beginning of a phase. 
The toxic ingredient. 
The only thing holding me. 

I can't see him as wrong.
I can't see Him as wrong.
I can't see you, as wrong. 

The candles and lanterns tried to stop the bleeding,
but it was much too late. 
Forever motivated by a quest.
What's the point?
Maintenance of human form. 
For what?
Sharpening of faculties.
Why?

When will you learn?
When will you learn.
Fallible, oh too fallible. 
Singing in my own. 
Dorian or Gray, or grey.

Do these seem like the ramblings of a tormented?
They are. 
(Nounized)
(Made up)

I am under the weight of a thousand birds,
Irony. 
I'm holding them down, 
to trap myself.

My favorite legal term of art. 
My favorite misquote. 
Holding them down, holds me down. 
I half believe that if they flew away that I could too.

But I didn't bring a jacket,
I don't have any sunscreen Icarus. 

Crack my code? Here's hoping you can't resist.

I won't believe in angels.
Only in the methods of my favorite man. 
The methods that can bring the dead back to life. 

You keep giving them seed.

Without even meaning to. 
Or maybe you do. 
Or maybe you don't.

To be a breath away from the only thing that can make me feel more empty than I always have...

Too be. 

It's wrong on purpose, don't worry. 

The only person who has ever seen me naked. 
The only person who has ever known all my naked truth.
...unbundled... 
The signatory of my favorite scar. 

Hates me. Easy prey doesn't tempt me. 
I want a challenge and a siren.

I'd rather cut my teeth out with scissors than tell you I'm giving up. 
I'm too strong, and too smart, and too independent, and two...

I went down to the capital. 
looking at some Law schools
I went running in the park, and on the streets. 
all the while pretending
like this will be my life someday. 

Dexter, and Greg, and Walter, and Francis. 
All my fathers, my allies. 
A channel to the confines of the birds in my mind. 

I'm deliberate. Seems unconventional.
Calculated, calculating. 
Ninety Five Percent of people like me, 
like us, 
live alone. 
Not so much physically.
Two Standard Deviations of fucking lonely.
Two evening teas, and teas, and unBelievable. 

8 days from now I don't know where I'll be. 
Get a Blanket and call Versailles. 
We're taking on water, and sociopathy suits you,
will you give me a hand? 

No matter how hard I squeeze, 
I just can't fit you in to the space left waiting for you. 
That's okay,
I like being flimsy, and fickle, and fleeting. 
I like waiting for the fish just to throw it home. 

Throw me home, would you? 
At least give me a push. 

Boxes and Boxes of things coming over, 
It's scary and I'm drowning. 
Drowning has a nice cadence, though. 

I was told to sit at the table tonight, so I'm not going. 
I was told I need to reserve and preserve. 
So I'm giving it all away. 
Revelry in the rebellion.
Almost as pathetic as  Chris. 
I know, I know. Don't speak ill. 
He was my life for a time.
But I hated my life. 


I hated it, and I couldn't understand why. 
I wasn't crying for him, 
I was crying for freedom,
and guilt, 


Even if no one loved you, 
selfishness attends every funeral. 
Selfishness is the quiet, sits alone in the back,
like you wouldn't even know he's there. 

Don't make me wait here. God Knows I can't go in alone. 
She's not a therapist. She's not even a witch. 

Are you sick?
Don't hunt me. 
Seek.

Is that what you're wondering? 
I know I sound sick. 
It's not what it looks like. 
I'm capable of coherent thought. 
I am just tired of it.
So linear and boring. 
If this is what we're going to do you'll have to crack a window, so I don't fall asleep. 

Remember the white knuckles? Literal, clench of a fist. 
Flame, but never with any intention to burn. 
I wonder if that's how we all come into the world. 

Capable of burning but not intending to. 
At some point, You're going to have to tell me how you did it. 
How you pretended your way into a story book. 
But in the meantime, do you think wildfires are just as innocent as a spark? 

Sparks. 

Read and read and come find me. 
It will say your old name. 
The only thing that dirt can't cover. 

I'm not putting too much faith in you. 
It isn't personal, 
I sometimes can't even crack my own code. 
I can't even see all the pieces from where I'm standing. 
But they're there, and they're painted and waiting for you. 


Geometric Mosaic. In an abandoned church. 
Mary and Mary and Mary and Electra complex.
When will she stop, seems manic, or sick, or worse.
She isn't.

Me, that is. 
It's all me. The crazy, the rambling, the sensical and non. 
I thought you knew that. 
Don't play dumb, don't cry. 

I walk like Leslie Burke,
on the line between love and hate. 
and the chasm between stability and passion. 
Slow, methodical, 
I belong to, 
I belong with, 
What time is sunset?

(how many ships on the horizon?)
Careful not to let the Sunset burn them. 
It isn't flat, but it isn't round. 
Maybe it is nothing, 
just a figment

oh, shh, shh, shh.
Come back to me Chimera,
I haven't been so mad at anyone
probably ever,
or at least since Chris. 
I hate you. 
I hate you. 
All senses. 
It's been forever... since 
Kids on the Run. 
Who are you writing this for? 
11:00 pm hasn't called me on a Monday
in too long.

Thought of you when loss came through, 
sickness is loving the memories of co-misery. 
I hated to think, but I'm not allowed to worry,
so I asked myself, Who are you writing this for?

I hate you. 

Please, unscramble me.
It's an emergency. 
Isn't it?
Isn't it. 
Can't we talk about this? 
I used to think that this is all there was. 
The only way was to be hurt, or to be lying.
But there could be another.
I'm finding this duality to be toothless. 
But I didn't do the pulling. 


"ttmwktifh," 
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