Wishing Numb

June 30, 2003

Movement is like a biting need
that helps nothing in me crawl forward
out of all of what lurks inside of me.
The first memories are like cringing
and I'm not at all sure I feel
like I can keep up with you.
My lips are falling to the cream
that leaves me clutching at things
that I thought were just dreams
but now seem like all my life coming
from out this hopeless melancholy
that I still effortlessly call.
The ropes that keep my hands cling
to my skin that sweat has turned slick.
From out of the folds of bonds I creep
into the light that sustains the heart
burning and writhing inside of me.
I've fallen, I'm falling again.
The burning flesh leaves a scalding
wretching, thoughtlessly heinous scent
that turns to tears from out the scene
and falling to the floor where I fall.
The frightening dream turns into a beam
of light and dark all crushing my soul.
If in the grip of this hopelessness like this
the beating of my heart becomes a trapped thing.
I run out of needs and I run out of the room
to try to break free this urgency in me.
Failing again, gaining nothing as I bleed
from my hope, from my receeding time,
and drifting again into the fear that this
is all that life has to offer me...