Piece 37: Goodbye, Security Deposit.

. Blood drips aimlessly from the gash in my skull.
. Seeping slowly, in a sluggish attempt to meet the tufts of polypropylene.
.                     Moments ago             fighting, racing through my venae cavae
. In an ever present demand to be reoxygenated, to repeat the constant cycle.
.            Sadly, the cycle interrupted with the crashing force of gravity.

. The corner of the table sits still, crimson droplets splatter its surface.
. It drips slowly into the carpet.
.                                                      [God, that is going to cost a fortune to remove.]
.                      Another liquid melds with the coarse fibers,
. My mouth is agape and drool leaks from the corner.
. A blackness settles slowly into the edges of my vision.
.                      Steadily pulsing, closing inwards.
. In the distance a faint voice calls out, or was it a scream?
.               I’m past the point of caring.

.                          A shadow looms over, too late, the muscles have grown rigid.
.She yells something at my face, and I’m oblivious to what she is trying to tell me.
.                                   […I think a steam cleaner is about forty dollars for a day…]
.          “What going on? What have you done? Oh my god, he’s gone?”
. Something like that, I can’t be sure. The sound, muffled and distant.
.They come in, two men clad in white, and jam their cold hands beneath me.
.They raise me onto a board and place a white cloth over me.
.Before the white becomes all encompassing, my head falls to the side.
.         I see the carmine Pollock I left in the carpet in its entirety for the first time.
.                                                                                      Fuck, that is never coming out.

Piece 36: Her Life Was Her Most Important Performance

.        Like a script of a play
.               She declared her lines with stage direction on the side.
.                                              Scribbled notes in the margins, to be referenced later.
.           A story unto herself, an enigma unwritten.
.                  The acts of her life, a storyteller’s dream.
.            Filled will suffering and bleakness,
.                      Overcome by her passion for the arts.
.                                                                             a i r
.         Her voice when spoken carries in the
.              And >>impacts>> eardrums, resonating with those enraptured.
.  The slightest movement exaggerated, and purposeful
.                        Is felt by the audience as if she were acting only for them.
.     A myriad of emotions expressed and absorbed according to her whim.
.                                       Spellbound, they watch.
.                                They cry for her, laugh with her
.                       And become indignant when she is slighted.
.                                                                                               Alone, she was broken.
.                            While acting she’s part of a whole.
.               A freedom found in the lives of parts,
.                             Opening the way for personal healing.
.                      Allowing her to blossom,
.                  And become what she had always dreamed.

Piece 35: The View From the Bottom of the Lake

. I feel it in my bones
. she said, trembling violently under the crisp night air.
. Her heart beat [q u i c k ening] against my chest
. Slowing slowly, more ragged.
. She nuzzles closer, desperate for the two things I am unable to provide;
. Warmth and love.
. She attempts to blink back tears knowing they will freeze in mere moments
.                        obscuring what little there is left to see in our immediate vicinity.
. With her body slumped against me
.               It feels like I am trapped in a grocery store freezer
.                                 And we are two packages of meat waiting to expire.
. I try to comfort her, but, to be honest, prospects are looking bleak.
. I give her a quick squeeze and sigh, exhaling a swath of frosted regret.

. The subzero temperatures stab viciously as I wriggle my toes to stave off frostbite.
. The movement challenged by the ice-induced rigor.
. She looks up at me and tells me that she loves me.
. I mumble a response, vague, yet comforting and pray she believes it.
. After all, if I can’t give her hope in our last moments
.                                                                             then I guess I’ve completely failed her.
. Her small frame stopped moving,
. the gentle heaving of the ocean turned to a placid lake.
.                             A small tear forms in the corner of my eye,
.                             not from the pain of loss,
.                             but the guilt from my lack of pain.
.                                               Breaths get shallower, the corners of my vision fade.
.                                                                                               I succumb to the elements.

Piece 34: Morning Thoughts

. I flatulated again,
. The violent ejection of pent up gas shatters the silence of my dwelling.
. Unmoving, I suffer through the angry/bitter sulphuric smell.
. It will pass just like all the other moments of my life, equally unimportant.
. S t r e t c hing to unknot the spasms stabbing my spine
. Caused by my corpulence, my rotund gut [ex t e  n  d   i   n   g]
.                                                  heav
.                                        and              ing slightly with every thick, needing breath.
. A dejected look on my visage
.                                    as disappointing thoughts pass fleeting through my mind.
. Is there really any more to life than this?
.    Does my health really mean nothing to me?
.                                                                          Did I leave my front door unlocked?
. I wonder these things but they change nothing.
.                                                                            I change nothing.
.                        Everything stays the same.

Piece 33: Timely Acts of Escapism

.  Cas
.          cad
.                   ing through the c ra c ks,
.  I meld.
.  Straddling the edges of time
.                                                              floating.
.                             ||Flickering||,                         I caress the vacuum of space.
.                   Staring through the palpable matter I disdain.
.  Astral projection my only release.
.                                / lensing curving spacetime,
.     Gravitational /
.                                                          [myself]
.                                               I view [myself] in triplicate.
.                                                     [myself]
.                                                                                                              / my taut flesh.
.               Mind absent \                       The peace spread across /
.                                         \ from the host, lingering.
.  Unchanged for aeons, now irreconcilable.
.  As the cosmos /tfihs/,
.     w    i
.  s            r       in a haze of light twisted by overbearing mass.
.         l
.                                                   Drifting,
.                                                                         gravitating,

.                                                    descending.
.  Returning, opening eyes, the blackness withdraws.
.  My mind settles with a somber acceptance.
.        twitch
.  A                    of longing unvoluntarily drawn from the corner of my lips.
.  A sullen understanding that I will never know such serenity again.

Concept Album Track 1: The Corner of My Eye

. The gentle mystique of her presence
.           cascading down the strands of her hair, flowing along her supple frame.
.                        I dream and dream again.
.                    She is always there – in the corner of my eye.
.                                                   My subconscious has started to blend into reality,
.                                for I see her in my waking hours, now.
.                                                                               …Always…
.                                                   in the corner of my eye.
. I can’t believe she is just a figment of my imagination.
.      (My mind may not be as …whole… as it once was, but that’s not a possibility)
.            I long for her to close the gap, to be tangible, and within my grasp.
.       But still she ever shies away.
.              My eyes flutter shut,
.                                                                she beckons me.
.              I heed her somber call,
.                                                                an insidious whisper oddly silent.
.              As I draw near she pulls away,
.                                          ever farther, crushing my lungs with abysmal despair.
.                             After years of vacant torture her haunting geist fades.
. Emptiness…
.                                             …Yearning…
.                                                                                                                ….Longing.

Concept Album Track 2: A Bitter Wind

.  The hours etch by
.                               a wholesome loneliness
.                                                                     the peace eternal.
.  A majesty stifled metropolis
.                   left bitter in the blank sky.                          i     l
.                            The moon’s reflected light            w     r     i
.                                – too dim to strike the dust    s                 n   across blackened dirt-
.                                                                                                  g
.                            leaves me reminiscing.
.                                                                                    Is this all that there is left in life?
.                                                                    To carry on a seemingly meaningless task
.                                                        With no one even acknowledging your existence?
.                                          I am one with the wind.
.                     Surrounded by serene beauty, but invisible to the world.
.                      One day the calm will come and I will cease to exist.