Loosing you in room 132

I trace cold window panes with failing fingers
Searching for your name.
Somewhere down the hall a door lock snicks shut
Reminding me of the hollow ache of my aloneness.

Children shuffle down the halls
That smell of perfume and cigarette smoke
Their bulbous eyes pleading to be loved.
Bones stick out and pinch
Rubbing the wrong way
Out of filmy thread bare shifts.
They will be taken aside
Into secret rooms
Their neglected state stripped down
With leathery purring hands
That coo and fuss over tangled hair
And to tight hand me down shoes
That will be removed
Along with innocence.



The crying of some child
On a hotel bed
Disturbs the silence
But quietly.
Lovers moan out their dissatisfaction's on the other side of the paper thin wall.
Sticky In the lazy glow of artificial light
Dim to hide the stains of sex and self indulgence.
The reek of underworld corpulence
Like the smears of last nights lipstick on the rim of a drinking glass,
The ash that burned neat little holes into the polyester rug.



I curl myself into a question mark on this borrowed bed
Where not so long ago we played Lady and her Love.
Pretending to be someone else,
Pretending this room was ours.
But when the clock expired
And the candles burned down to nothing
We left our hearts with the room key

At the front desk.

old news

10/17

I'm falling apart inside and out.

Is this how it really ends?

I'm bitter and cold and hungry.

I don't dream anymore, I don't hope or want anything.

I don't think I want to be saved this time around, And theres no one who could anyway.


And I can't even tell you, your kinda all I have now. You've been busy, I really have no right to burden you.
You've been good to me, considering. And it could be worse. I understand your problems are bigger then mine.
I know you want to get beter and I would to, If I could see the light.
I wish I could make it go away. You would say I make this myself. Perhaps it is true but I can't stop it now.
I can't just 'be happy'. I'm failing, I'm trying, but it isent working. I'm so sorry. I wish I could cure myself.
I'm gonna go out with a bang, or maybe climb a skyscraper just to 'see the view'. either way I'm going to save
all the help and engery to be used on someone that matters.

I don't even know why I'm typing this here, maybe I know you'll read it. I don't know what I'm doing anymore.







10/20

I guess I'll be saying I'm ok right up until I do it. I mean really. Not the attempt when I was 12,
I guess my imagination didn't want me. Not when I was 16, no he came and took me from that. Then twisted me to
what I am now. Broke me down and made me sick. And then the string of men that were just like him, one after the
other. It took an innocence from me. A hope. I don't hope now.I don't believe that love will save me.
I don't believe there is a better life, . . . this is it.
I am meant to be alone.

And I will tick like a machine. I will rise, work, try to sleep, til one day I'll just stop. My gears will stick
and I won't move. Then I think it will be time at last. Why try to rush it? that's where I went wrong at 12 and
16. All one has to do is wait. It will be time soon enough. Then there will be no reason to stop. Nothing to pull
me back. No ambulances or men of god shouting my name. I can do it boldly. (or will it be more of a surrender?)
No matter... It will be the time for it, the right time. And that is what makes this world stick together,
Not just time but the correct time.

And I will leave nothing but a few pretty photographs.
And they'll remember me for being a good worker for a couple years. No children. No great memories.
A handful of relatives to shed the compulsionary tear or two at my grave.
I unmark the world but I will not leave it. Not until it tells me to make my exit.
And I'll make my steps in the dance, and say the lines that are scripted to me,
and without bow or accolade walk off into darkness.

इ वौल्ड रथेर हवे थे पैन थें थे अब्सेंस ऑफ़ यौर वोइस.

Sometimes I sleep but I have no dreams. And I hear some higher purpose calling but somebody snatched the voice of God back into the wind and laughed, tossing it amoung the clouds to echo into distorted nothingness. While I here below was left naked and blamed, for mysteryious sins of the heart. Flawed with an inability to love or trust in the one who made me. I am at fault for it all. I wish the world woud toss their sins like stones upon me, admiting at last that I was the one, begging for them to quickly unload them selves to my quicker death. I am done.