House of Moratorium

I can only hope that what they'll come to eventually see Is me becoming more of me, And less of a shell, quiet and empty, An echo chamber of my own little hell. Please understand, I wish everyone well, But the moments I want to scream come so unexpected, It's an executed ambush that steals my lungs first so I cannot tell. So as I'm begging for breath, For just a little more space, Watching the darkness sparkle the air in front of my face, I begin to remember I wasn't always this way. Not always the causation of furrowed brows, And the subject of back door conversation, They tell me that they worry, And I suppose I would too if I heard the hush that fell in post-devastation. See, one day it left and never truly came back-- And not one song, no sermon, nor academic study ever seemed to summon it again after that. Filling the silence never worked-- Not the dark whispered tones, The empty laughter, The blaring radio every late night drive home, I t

If things had been different... Such an innocent phrase, naive, used by both the young and hopeful, and the tired and empty. If things had been different, maybe I wouldn't be the latter. Maybe I would be looking ahead to the shining future of a young professional; "I'm a writer!" She says, with all the unearned confidence of a lamb masquerading as a tiger. But it wouldn't matter how many wolves licked their lips, she would persist. The world nothing but her oyster, her deep sea diving suit comprised of the ring on her finger and a four year degree in a field that doesn't pay unless you never ever stop swimming. If things had been different...I could see it, all of it, steadily waiting on the horizon line. If the affair never happened, if the strokes never struck down my father, if my heart didn't break every day for a decade feeling my mother's resulting resolve and desperation, if they had chosen to to tell me sooner that my conception was

Huddled in my car on the first of the year, The blowers turned up high, My face blasted by the heat, but my body won't stop shaking. With no other sound but my heart and its quickening beat, There seems no better time, and I start to scream-- "Why won't it stop?" I look for You in everything, But I just don't see where You are. See, my arms bear the marks but my heart is the scar--Jagged, filthy, And I have no reason to feel this way, No reason to scream at the stars and their Maker. Many have faced worse than I, and their worse will stay, so why won't it stop? I could try to explain, try to teach anyone what makes me this way, But I cannot help them understand, Because, Father, I see you move, but I don't feel Your hand. Why won't it stop? Of all I've given, and I've given a lot, Why won't it stop-- The endless seeking, the internal bleeding, the hole that never really seems to close. No matter how I try to fill it, al

And I'm walking on all these razors, bleeding from the outside in. Every step another slice, another morning spent wondering how to begin. Do you think if I knew who laid this field of brutal snares that I would stand back and let them win? Not a chance. Would I remain idle as the ones who shattered this mirror escaped with their meticulous plans? No way in hell. But pieces of hell find their way out, I can taste their seasoning-- it's the growing tang of iron in my mouth. So many eyes seem to follow as I walk, They watch, they wonder, they doubt, as I grit my teeth and then simply bite down. Bright smiles and curious faces, My mouth fills with blood, but I don't dare make a sound. There's so much that could be said, and yet my words would be garbled, So don't hunt me for the answers, you well-intentioned bloodhounds. Always standing in the middle, A choking devil's advocate, How does my body ache so much when my heart feels so little? Thoughts

I'm sorry my heart aches for reasons undefined, And that my thoughts strangle each other within my mind, They can't get out -- can't taste the air,  You're reaching in to let them breathe, But I know they don't play fair. Please, I'm sorry, I don't know if I can make you understand, It's so very loud in here -- but don't draw back your hand. I'm swimming in static...but everything echoes, Every accusation, every dagger, Every "Do what you can, fool, but it'll never matter." I'm not insane, Not even close, But the voices are so loud sometimes I've learned to call them by name. Remorse, she tips my head back and forces me to look in her eyes. Guilt, he's seductive...dark and tall and full of well-reasoned lies. I'm reaching up towards the light, but Bitterness is fast, he grabs my hand every time. Sabotage is beautiful, but in one perfect fist she holds a blade, whispering in my ear, "Take it, you

This one is for her. This one is for the girl in the spring, staring numbly out the window as the world came back to life, wondering how many left turns it takes to make something right. This one is for every hopeful thought she shot down, and for every conviction that she beat into submission. It's for every blackout curtain she closed, desperate to keep out the light. For the latest of nights, when dawn came too soon, And it felt like bleeding out just to leave her room. She's not the one I'm proud of, she's not the one who made it easy. The long drives, the false hope, the teasing, Pouring lies like fountain soda, Spirit parched for anything of worth. Forgiving of nothing, And deserving no forgiveness, There is no crime if there's no witness.