| She only calls me when she's sad; Poems | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Oct 14 2012, 08:33 PM (60 Views) | |
| Sussuri | Oct 14 2012, 08:33 PM Post #1 |
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She only calls me when she's sad. by Gordon Michael Alexander Clark There was snow in my dreams last night, I remember there was snow and of remembering to remind myself that this is but a dream. There will be no day off work today. I resume sleeping, I doze off and finally lose myself to the cold night air that caused me to dream of snow in the first place. I wake up around six, I go for a run I feel like shit this morning, but I need to run. perhaps I'll sweat what ever this is out of my system, I could probably call in with the fact I'm getting laid, because I already used up all my alloted sick excuses for the year. My boss would buy that story like he would a sick call, He's been to my poetry readings he know's I'm not in-love and there fore not having sex, I debate whether or not I should lie to my boss, for about an hour. My thoughts and internal struggle blocking out the screams of my shin bones splintering in small micro-pieces with every step I connect against the pavement, the hell fires scorching my my recovering lungs labored and taxed to its fullest capacity eventually I decide if I want to run this shit feeling out of my system, then 'lol it' I may as well work it out of my system too. Around 7:30 I get a ring, and I like at the call display and I realize that the snow in my dream did not symbolize the fact I wanted a day off, and it didn't mean that feel like shit today, because I am getting sick. Intuitively I was psyching myself up for war, a long, cruel and hard winter is in the forecast. For I love this number, I live for this call, when I think who is behind this phone I think of all that is right with the world, I think of regret, I think of sexuality and of dancing for the first time and then never again. I remember drinking, and blacking out with you in my arms. Waking up unsure weather it was your vomit or mine on my sweater. You were wearing my sweater, why 'the lol' was I wearing your sweater. I looked towards the table where a burnt candle stump and a typewriter ink stained table had cards on it beer and quarter, half, and near empty liquor bottles lay a hazard waiting to happen. There is macaroni salad stuck to the ceiling and clothes littered on and among the mismatched dining room chairs. We played sociables last night. I remember the pain, and the reason I write poetry I remember the hate and how after all these years there has not been one person I have loved more than you how as loled up as you are and as you willl always be and I am far more superior to you in every possible way, inspired to be better than the squalor and debauchery that our life amounted to. I could still yet relapse into your arms right now and not think anything less of myself for it. I quickly choose to be happy, I am in a good place in life, I can achieve all my goals in 10-15 years, I need to take care of myself right now, I don't want to hear for the millionth time what her issue is, give her advice she doesn't want to hear. So I ignore the ringing, finally turning off my phone and think to myself the title of my next poem is going to be she only calls me when she's sad. |
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| Sussuri | Oct 14 2012, 08:35 PM Post #2 |
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I know it seems a bit harsh in some places about her, but she was bad for me and enabled the darkest days of my life. I had to get out of that situation and leave her behind to heal. My greatest prayer is that one day she will want to be better to. =(
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