Festering Hour...again

Memories that won't drown in a sea of time,
tumbling bottles of pain washed back up on shore.
Fighting back tears while typing inside jokes,
trying to distract myself with thoughts of tawdry affairs.
Even figurative sex doesn't quite quell my rotten stomach,
giant butterflies rumbling about in a cramped cavern.
I've been here before, never admitting the pain,
always swallowing what should have been pride.
Staring off vacantly, family occasions and rowdy parties;
snapping back in time to give a pleasant nod.
A few drinks turning into bathtubs of gin,
twin fists of beer, or several scotch sours.
The thought of sleep pacifies some of the edge,
but the rest never comes, teasing with heavy eyelids.
Hot apartments giving way to hotter street corners,
a single fan to cool the coals under my belly.
The thoughts return like sparks from a dying fire
stoking my agony to an unbearable level.
I tear off my clothes and turn the shower knob
freezing water seems to turn to steam at my touch.
The rotten memories are dragging chains,
pulling the skeletons of my past into the cauldron;
a bubbling pool of filth and regret.
Hands of people I have known reaching out
then fading back into the sticky mess.
I will never know the purity and solace of peace,
my soul seems to ache at every turn.
After the whiskey has run dry
and the tears have left trails of salt upon my cheeks,
I will light another cigarette and she will slap me again.
I'll look forward to it.

A few thoughts in the late afternoon

Sitting indoors after time by the water; skin glistening, my face is still warm.
A cool shower and some fresh, loose clothes.

A work ethic is a tricky thing to wrestle with.
Some people can get right down to business,
I have to make myself walk over the searing coals of a first sentence.
Then, perhaps something will catch and off I'll go,
wandering in my own mind, with happy blisters.

Always answer the phone if you're naked, there will never be a boring conversation on the other end.

Thought Process

I am burdened, my mind will not be still.
Sitting in darkness, swimming in consciousness.
Sex and drugs wander about, taunting my soul,
but I do not alter my thoughts to them; and they soon fade.

The sounds of crackling tobacco and fast moving keys,
air moving between buildings and wandering cars envelop me;
filling my darkness with a feeling of awareness.
There is life outside.

Pondering the existence of life outside the windowsill,
turns to thoughts of disgust and a bitter boil.
The tranquility of my darkness is being invaded by that?
There is nothing but filth and chaos out there.

But the filth and chaos drive the writer to write!
and raunchy prose fills the mind, but there is a pause.
The sounds of cars, keys and even tobacco fades,
and the air remains. The air wills me on.

I am a piece of the chaos, as is the traffic and the
sex and the drugs. The world is underneath an unnecessary
human existence. When the senses lose the world of humanity
we are whole, connected to the earth.

Another cigarette is lit, a long drag, and a sigh.

Sunny Day

Lately I've been wandering around with the angel of death in my shadow.
I walk the sidewalk as if there was a great earthly divide to the right and left.

For this reason I question the path from time to time, waiting for my footing to give way,
and down I'll go; screaming all the way to hell.

The fear I hold is reinforced by a world of festering flesh.
I look around and see rotting fruit, being eaten by rotting faces;
a society blind to its decay, attempting to cover the stains and wrinkles with chemical salves.
I sit in corner cafes and the stench of suppurating souls overcomes me;
I vomit on the sidewalk and the world passes unaware.