January 1st, 2014Mature

Holidays always seem to depress me for some odd reason..overthinking led to this piece.

Just sitting in my room,

listened to the dull sound of my clock tick

for way too long.

I need a way out.

I need a way out.

From this small town,

all this running around,

I can't take it anymore.


You're out at the bar in your blue jeans,

living it up at the lit up bar scene.

All the gray hairs dancing,

music in the air.

All the young asses shaking,

along with their hair.

You want me there.

I don't go.


Send me your love over text message airwaves,

settle your pleas with a bottle of wine.

Those neon signs still show in my eyes, even when they're closed.

I need a way out.


All my high school friends,

out to drink some beer.

Start off the new year right,

by not remembering the end of the last one.

So much wrong,

and we waste it away.

If I had one wish it would be for the forces of the unseen

to grant these souls a place to stay.

Because I swear we're forgotten in dust.

and left to bake in the sun.


The plot has an ending,

with a twist we didn't see.

Just like every god-damn hollywood movie.

Until the essence is revealed in glory, blinding light and showers of sky,

another shot disappears.

Maybe our fireworks will reach to the light,

send out S.O.S. to the deep high.

Take another shot.


How I feel so powerless,

so complacent and intact.

The chaos of saying things not meant is inviting,

but that fire in your stomach, it won't just go away.

So they'll call me an asshole,

say I never answer my phone.

Leave me a ten minute long voicemail,

I'm okay with that.


I'm pacing around volcanoes alit,

treading on thorns in my bare fear.

Forget their messages and write your inferno away.

One giant long life written in disappearing ink.

At least with their beer they have stories to tell,

rather than ones you make up and put down in your book.

My whole desk vibrates, and my pen screws up the word.


I guess I'll answer it.

In this town there is only bars and churches,

and a skyline traced with peaks.

You can hear the bar music miles away.

The animals, shadowed in exile,

know that,

for the humans,

the night is forever and always young.

The End

7 comments about this poem Feed