40 days and 40 nights
stupid radio, playing heart-breaking notes making me miss my broken heart. i'm tierd. i have to be up in 6 and a half hours, and i don't know what the hell i am doing. i hate the lightning because it is so beautiful, and because i feel like the lightning. i feel its rage and i am lonely and cracking and searching like the lightning. i am dangerous, too, and the electricity in the air on the dry weeds is danagerous. i am creating a sculpture of broken things, bottle cups bowls sink basins ceramic elephants lightbubls ect, because i feel like the broken things. i feel like a broken mirror. i feel shattered. i bought a tape recorder so that instead of talking to people in my head, i could talk to them on tape, and then listen to myself and wonder, but i cannot stand the sound of my high-pitched voice, expecially when i sing, and i'm so lonely. it's dark, it's night, and i am lonely. forgive me.
yes, it is raining in vegas. i sent him an instant message on a whim, and he responded back probably because he was boerd. yeah, he's doing alright, been playing a few gigs at starbucks, too. becasue he's the best, and he works for coffee, but mostly because he's the best at picking the box there ever was. no, not that there ever was.
yes, it's raining in vegas, and he talked to me about it. he wonders if it is going to stop raining soon, and i tell him that the lightning is beautiful and i hope not. the thunder rings through the big picture window in my living room and he types "40 days and 40 nights."
i type to him and tell him about the thunder and how i feel its rage and how broken i feel, like a shattered mirror. "memebr is not currently signed on" is aol's only response to me.
i am so stupid. even my goddess thinks so.
so i continue to check my mail, and there is a letter from matt, and i try to write a letter to him about being lonely and feeling like electricity in the air and feeling like a broken mirror, even though in each piece of a broken mirror there is a whole self looking back... looking... i try to tell him all of this, but the words won't come, and so i scowl and play with websites and listen to the rain and cower on the inside.
i start to think... about jeff, the only boy who could ever resist me. and i think about jason, who i spent the day with. and i think about being lonely, and how everyone seems to have someone and alley mcbeal in that some people are meant to be alone. am i meant to be alone?
i shudder. i realize i'm cold and it's 80 degrees in my house. i turn the air conditioning up and pull on a sweater. i want some ice cream. i scoop it up, but i can't eat it.
"Raphael, too upset to eat comfort food? You need to go back to your therapist," i tell myself. i am not very reassuring to myself, so i decide to free write for a while and go to bed.
i write for about an hour or so. it's long and drawn out, depressing, imperfect: just the way i like to post it. i look at the clock, it's a quarter till one. i need to be awake in six and a quarter hours. i read back over what i wrote and change the noticable mistakes, then go lie in bed.
i look at the clock, it's half past two. i need to be awake in four and a half hours.
i think about what i wrote, while i can't sleep. i question the absolute. i wonder. i cry.
i go to the computer, again. it's ten past three. i need to be awake in an three hours and fifty minutes. i'm not tierd.
i read over what i wrote, again. i delete it. i write again. and here i am.
it's a quarter till four. i need to be awake in three hours and fifteen minutes, and all that i can think about is how much of a fuck-up i am, and how i chase away all of my friends, and how sorry i am.
liz, john, amber, lindy, jenny, tyler, james, bj, kyle, jason, mom, i am sorry. i am not worthy of any of you.
-your
fallen
previous thoughts of the day
ARCHIVES
poetry
omnipotent eulogy
short stories and other literary works
about me
tuba town
links
© 1998 UrielsPoet@aol.com
Get your own Free Home Page