Infinite Illness (Part 1)

October 20, 2011
At the center of my eyes,
deeper than the ocean itself;
take a look at me looking like you,
so young, so promising, so potent.
Through your illness-infested foundation
my entire body is a mirror of you;
I'm wired and structured
to spit back and cut through
until the mind is black and blue.

At my bleakest moments
I find I'm raging at God,
begging Him to dispose of me and my soul.
I've got no purpose,
I fit the facet of a black hole.
I see nothing that you see in me,
the beauty, the future, the certainty.
Are you angry because you should be,
just wait until I empty my sleeves.

Get lost in my forest of insecurities.
Feel your heart race
so you start to pick up the pace
but you're not getting out,
this is a hell of a place.
In my hostile frame
I see scattered memories
of your anger-worn face.
A goddamn glitch
in the family tree;
I'll work up some belief
as to why it passed on to me.
I'll pick the ones
that won't keep me alone,
the ones that will build me a home
so different than the one
I've known.
I look back to retrace my steps
and find where I walked wrong,
then I wonder, is it even my fault?

If you don't love yourself,
how can you love me?
If you don't know you,
do you even know me?
Sadly, I'm damned with your chemistry;
living in the doldrums
to punish myself for this disease
to which I've succumbed.
Now I find it comforting
on another round of Hold 'em,
but can't you guess the adversity
weighing down my hand?
Can't you see,
my numbers,
my shapes and colors
are your darkest secrets?
Or do you see me in one light
with an essence so sensible?
In truth, here I am
bending, crumbling, folding
and you don't even know it.

If I follow the footsteps of
my mother,
my father,
my sisters,
my brothers,
my friends,
and society,
I'll never know
what it means to be happy.
When all the walls get heavy
and the hopeful gets blurry,
I see a gift from above.
The choice to learn
and take what I need to grow,
to take what I need to teach
and leave the poison behind.

Too bad this is only the start,
so should I prepare myself
and shield my heart?
Should I build a nest real close
and disappear in a year
without a word?
When the feeling of falling
seems so appealing,
I'm convinced
there's a demon inside;
the infection is leaking out,
it's climbing up my spine.
I curse the sunrise
because it's so hard to wake
when my body is a cinder block
and my legs are twisted to knots.
There's a reason my open flesh
is left here to soak in alcohol,
that's what it takes for each layer
scraped away in question
to heal over with an answer;
but I've yet to improve.





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