Critical Mass

There used to be a lake here but
it too is just drained now. I may have once
been a ghost of water
able to enter and exit places without recognition,
able to touch a mouth and not leave a
taste or a mark – just
the sensation that something has been there
to calm a need.
Some days now I’m more just the spirit
of fire.
A ghost of smoke
A ghost of echoes
A ghost of ghosts
And I could truly be of the same amount
of use. My grass is overgrown.
Hasn’t been cut in weeks and I just
don’t give a damn. All my guitar strings are dead.
My Social Distortion vinyl skips on all my
favorite parts
because that’s where I’ve accidentally placed myself
again.
My fingers pressing in involuntary, pushed
by the weight of all I’ve done and failed to do.
I’m so full of everything. I’ve taken in so much
of what the world has to give, and I’ve
tried to take back so much of what life has
stolen. But sometimes I still can’t feel it.

There used to be a lake here but
it too is just drained now. I break in
in the middle of the night and step right
into its tomb.
This crater overflows with me
and I think maybe nothing and no one
will ever be able to hold all that I am now.

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2 thoughts on “Critical Mass

  1. This is awesome.
    “My Social Distortion vinyl skips on all my
    favorite parts
    because that’s where I’ve accidentally placed myself
    again.”
    This is awesome writing.
    Can’t tell you how many times i’ve found myself looking at an unfamiliar street hearing “Spent all my money, I’ve been drinkin since a half past noon. Well I’ll sit, and i’ll pray, in my broken-down chevrolet, well I’m thinking to myself, there’s got to be another way.”
    That might actually be two stanzas from two different songs. It’s been a while. Glad I found this piece though. It kicks.

    Like

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