Sunday, March 22, 2009

[2nd piece of my incomplete book]

I woke up on a park bench,
It was raining.
I was completely soaked,
but never have I felt more alive,
more at home
I rolled over as much as I could
I now stare across the distance of the park
There are no walls surrounding me
There is no one near me
No one to steal away the sounds of my own breathing
The trees are swaying, the rain is pounding
As if each breathe is the start of a measure
To this natural orchestra, the nocturne of my life
I sit up and wait for the switch to flip
The natural light of the sun begins to rise
I wonder if you've woken up yet
If you've turned over to see what's left of me
The book with my goodbye,
The crease in the right side of the bed,
I slept in the same place for so long
I wonder if you'll come looking for me,
I wonder if you'll know that I slept on this bench
when you walk by it when I'm gone
Should I leave a clue that only you would notice?
I guess I shouldn't give you false hope.
It's not that I want you to find me,
or do I?
How long would it take you to give up on the scavenger hunt of myself,
Would I be building myself up to being someone you thought you wanted,
the person you thought you needed?
I've already failed you once,
I can't bring myself to let that happen again.
I wrap up inside the raincoat of myself
What am I doing?
I have to remind myself that I've wanted this for so long
I've needed this for so long
You're the only one I ever thought I loved
Even if that love wasn't mine
I stretch my arms out
I wonder if they're extended towards you,
our house, the walls that kept me trapped
The hands that held me back
I'm crummy with directions
You'd be able to tell me
Maybe it's better that I don't know
I left a tear on the side of the bench for you,
but the rain quickly washed it away
It soaked through the pages of my leather-bound book
All of my thoughts have been pressed together,
The ink runs out and onto my hands
As if these years are being erased,
compressed into an ink-stained book,
the writing is almost illegible
The distance between the start and the finish of the story
No longer could be counted by words,
Only blank pages.
I bury it next to the sidewalk
Where we used to walk the dog
Maybe she'll smell it, she'll know it was mine
Perhaps you'll be able to decipher the pages
The gaps between the runny words can be an explanation
An explanation for the blank stare I gave you
after you kissed me goodnight on our last night.
That last night... I stare blankly into the morning,
I have failed you.

4 comments:

TruthPrevail said...

night vision goggles?

Claggie said...

what?

C.S. Perry said...

Man. This really hits too close to home for me.
Maybe I'll link it. But maybe I won't.

Claggie said...

that'd be more than fine with me! i'm glad you like it. it's a really small start to a book i'm beginning to write!