I am not surprised at
ladder-rung reproduction.
Nor am I disappointed, it gives me
something to do.
Maybe not the right thing to do
but a thing.

Oh, Draconis!
I’m not even sure I want this goal!
Detroit calls to me of its grime and grit
and potential
Lansing claws into me with bone talons
pleading, “don’t leave me!”
And I wail
angsty and goth-like
because I can’t make up my mind.

Oh, Tiamat!
Is this weakness the core of entropy?
“Not with a bang, but with a whimper,”
Have I been shown the ability to crumble
within myself
Time only brings more pain
it seems
more knuckling under
If I succumb utterly to you
am I learning
or
am I giving up?

Back from Ohio
Things left in the past
Unfulfilled not-quite-expectations

I am on the verge
of not sure about
releif or disappointment

My apartment is returning to
pseudo-comfort
worried about mirroring in this

Not bummed about anything
which is a mild surprise
considering unmet goals

Pleased with my car and
other mundane aspects of the trip
like money and food

I guess there’s always
a time when you say,
“okay, we’re done.”

Moments flash under my eyelids
Brighter than sun, darker than blacklights
Whorish memories claw
up from where I’ve imprisoned them
to glory in the depression and doubt.

I went to those parties
for the first two times
for women that I wanted to really, really know.
What a crushing sensation
adam’s apple up under my jaw

I have a will, the will of a leader
and the charisma to back it
every day I see people who would follow me
if I’d let them
And I feel the crumbling inside
for so many women.

Where is the switch that does this?
How can I keep my strength and
keep my passion?

The dull growl won’t leave the back of my head
I keep spotting
female
and I want like hunger
desire, crave, fiend, these arent good enough

Prowling the perimeter
of need
beat of the track thumping my sternum
I swear to the gods
woman
will not defeat me

I will be satiated
I grind my teeth.

have I lost myself in another person?
Am I fully me with this question pounding in my
head?

I hated the feeling of jumping when she
came up behind me.
She used to melt into my embrace, and I used
to let it happen.

I know that I have strength.
Why do I hold on to weakness?
So much power is wasted in fear.

“I am the new way to go/
I am the wave of the future.”

Without something to do this place feels boring
and anasthetic
Grab a notepad and a pen and suddenly
good music is playing

It improves the feel and noise of the
place immensely
There are few subjects for people-watching
always the regulars

I like this music.

No room for pretentiousness at a goth night,
you know.
We’re all here to make fun of ourselves.

What a noble gesture
What a grand acceptance of the ridiculous
nature of people.
In the end, I’m not sure if it’s even
more pretentious.

Maybe we’ll talk instead of spar, he
and I.

There are these old men, all conversing
and gesticulating at a table;
They remind me of aging mafia.
They remind me of aging us.

One of them is our old landlord from
THE LAIR
He stopped by to see how his customers
like their coffee.
He doesn’t remember the purple-haired
fat boy in a suit (double-breasted)
from the court room.

Of course, he always used to call me Aaron.
That pissed me off

I wonder what miscreants and high society
I’ll run in to and
bring together
in the next town I plant my roots in.
Not town.
City.

I wonder what it looks like;
that mark I left on this place.

Other peoples’ rhymes and emotions and
bitching
streams into my ears form the Detroit radio
that I hold in such esteem
much like I hold my family and friends, and even
the place
where I come from through I always slip into
such a black mood when I return here.

Oh Lord and Lady help me find the strength to
survive the days between now and when
those words
can burst forth and change everything in an
instant and help me find the strength to not
patronize
my family; they just might understand this time.
Lend me yourself for just this moment.
Help me find the wisdom to do what’s right.

I hate depression and what it does to me. I hate
the feeling of tears brimming under my contacts.
I hate feeling helpless and stuck and isolated and
hating
myself and that ever-growing circle of friends
and family. Is it being depressed or hating
the depression that makes me hide in sleep?

I wonder if I’ll ever solve the
puzzle
of my internal mutually exclusive dichotomies.
My existence on both ends of the spectrum. The wall I
feel between thought and emotion, the hate and love I
feel for myself, the import I place on
dreams
that I can’t hope to ever remember.