*

one of

those days

the turning

the heart

yearning

for it's

suckling

the world

disappoints

nothing new

the spurn

the turn

the screw

it will

happen

to you too

if you lose

enough

to strip

it down

rough

and

soak

the bones

in a tired

canister

where

grandmother's

flour

dusts

the bony hinges

that

stick

out

from

too much

infringement

on the

suicide note

i beg to differ

i have to

whisper

act quicker

i'm not

expected

to last

my kind

never has

the last laugh

we just hear

it's echoe

the rest

of our years

a torturous

clown

drowning

his sorrow

with milquetoast

and grape wine

stumbling

along

making fun

of the lost girl

stuck

on

the ferris wheel

my first connection

with mother's

lack of longevity

she will never

rise again

and i run

frightened

trying

to find

a piece

of her

left behind

that i

can hold

in my mind

for a day

when things

like this

hit me

like a hard

roll of the

rotten dice

that came out

of

the old

Yatzee board

the marbles

that roll down

the scarred arms

the lost piece

on grandmother's farm

i can't hear

what needs

to be said

in my ear

i curl up

cologned

breath

in hands

tears

like

running sand

never seen

a cry

never heard

doesn't mean

it lacks

pain

the grace

social

left

my place

of sorrow

i replace

my tomorrows

with hope

for my child

and

each day

gets

less mild

and

i'm tired god

and wish

to leave

everything

a race

a game

a mean scheme

to make

a mockery

out of people

like me

who are

only

praying

for

one more day

to exist

i count

the numbers

naught

i quit counting

when they

told me

i could

i tire easily

i have no

boredom

level

i'm like

a human squeegie

sponge

i wish to run

like pastels

on plum walls

roll

in

the blackness

of it all

it smells

like humans

here

it makes me

feel death

is near

when people

quiver

over

a

silver coin

what's the point

hang it poster

wise

on a wall

then bury

your

small frame

you always

lose the game

in death

if there is

anything

to hold on to

in this life

it is people

close by

but,

they

have died

and

i reside

alone

waiting

for my song

the sound

to my ear

where even

my frown

touches down

people

disappoint

that is life

i'm not fit

for it's

grave

existence

not brave

enough

for

such

insensitivity

will soon

rot out

the flesh

in me

sooner

than later

the bones

will roll

like purple

dice

slip

through

the crack

in my ice

and meld

into

my purple

dream

my teeth

chattering

stopped

battering

my bones

will be

sinking

flesh

decomposition

stinking

the earth

with

it's sweet

lady

cologne

dripping

from a

wet bone

that once

held the

heart home

underneath feet

the suicide note

never left

a bottle

in the

medicine chest

a sad parade

an empty glass

the closet

where

the closest called

the last

train home

to god

i wonder

how long

we all got

my time served

my wicked

weary bones

crackle

cackle

with delight

at it's

continued

life

despite

the ongoing

frightened

fight

with self

with life

i'm not

meant

to last

how

i made it

this far

on the

blood

railed

tracks

is beyond

even god's

curious quest

for guess

an unwelcome

guest

I unluck

out

and

stand

small

try to thrive

failure

to survive

a full life

in the misery

left for

all of us

who cannot

contemplate

luck

or fate

we begin

with love

and find

only hate

and can

no longer

relate

to a life

unjustified

by a

postponed

later date

appointment

with God