In The Basement

Salvation as

I look through

This whole grand operation

Watch 'em walk, when wires melt

And stop Grand Central Station

The real reason why we're so few

While everyone's impatient

Could be fixed by simple coup

And processed elimination

When they all watch while stunned to stone

With utter, pure amazement

I look at them in ecstasy

For fooling half the nation

And even though I'm tired still

Of this complex arrangement

I worship what most would call naught

And celebrate in the basement.

Spring Strings

The winter greyth's blown over

The spring sun has shown through

The sky has turnt from grimy grey

To shiny, pastel blue

And as I see these things around me

And all I know is true

I still feel cold, wet, rained upon

And happy thoughts are few

Even though the flowers, trees

All are in full bloom

I still feel muddy, stagnant blues

As somber fades to gloom

Drowned Out

I am the shadow of contempt

that trails behind everyone you hate.

I am rejection.

I am the failed attempt.

I am the letter you don't want

to open.

I am the message you don't want

to hear.

I am the puddle you avoid,

The trash you step on,

The channel you change.

I am the face you slap,

The voice you drown out,

The request you ignore.

I am the emptiness inside of

Everyone.

Gone With the Wind

The feeling crept up like the stomach-churning symptoms of a to-do list of forgotten chores accumulating in your head exponentially by the second. Sure, I could have hung around for some breakfast and coffee, trading drunken memories (or the lack thereof) from the night before with everyone, and I liked everyone well enough, but something inside of me told me to go. In that moment I could see no reason for asking questions or attempting to rationalize. These people were not my friends. I didn’t belong there. I looked around and surveyed the damage of the night one last time before I was gone. Beer cans, plastic cups, various bongs and other miscellaneous smoking devices lay strewn across the living room. The tenant of the apartment, “Ethan”, stumbled towards me in nothing but his boxers.

“Here’s your keys, man,” he smiled, dangling my avenue out of there from his fingers.

I vaguely remembered giving them to him the night before, as a precaution to avoid driving.

“Thanks for looking out for them,” I smiled in return.

I went to the kitchen and grabbed my bottle of Canadian Club from the freezer. In a minute I would be on the high road, alone, with nobody to question but myself. I don’t know why I decided to run. The endless questions that normally enter a rational person’s head of “why?” and “where?” were miles away, surely to be encountered somewhere down the line, but not then, and not there.

The decision came on strong, like a good whisky buzz: instantaneous, though terminally impermanent. The feeling, however, was far from fleeting. It stuck with me, clinging to my nerves until it could be satisfied. I had no specific reasons motivating me to get lost, but choosing one wouldn’t have been hard. I’d been running from things my entire life. Work, commitment, responsibility, The Great Unknown. Whatever the excuse, I didn’t need it. I just needed to go. I put on my jacket, took my whisky, and without a word of goodbye or a single syllable of small talk, I was out the door. Gone with the wind. A man whose only mission or purpose was to acquire exactly that: Purpose.