Rare

So, I actually liked the poem I wrote today. Whoa.

In my life, to simply live was enough
To keep me up nights. Every night
The thought of coins on my eyelids
Or an escapist’s dilemma
With mud and pine and a pinned-back suit
Was just enough to make me abort my dreams.

I’d suffocate them beneath my pillow
Committing nightly infanticide
With a pointless sleeping drought, a glass of water,
And a short trip to relieve myself.
Sometimes, they’d get near to taking their first steps
But they’d be snuffed out just in time.

So that now, sitting here beyond the edge of my life
I can try to look back on it all.
My thousands of ghostly children embrace me
Like an old acquaintance who might have been a lover
Or might have been my dearest friend.
And now I can’t tell, if I might be dreaming after all.

(BTW Copyright 2009 to me, bitches.... sorry.... I don't know where that bout of sass came from.... cough cough?)