deepundergroundpoetry.com

Retire (The Morning After Forever)

The morning will be waiting by the door when I get home.
The ground will be waiting for my arrival,
The bathroom sink calls,
Blood flows smoothly down the drain.

Past my eyes is a reservoir full of water,
It leaks out of my mouth and ears.
I hate the way the water tastes,
I hate the way I can feel my tongue on my own lips.
When I slice the surface of my vessel,
My soul spills out onto the floor,
It flows smoothly down the drain.

The morning will be waiting by the door when I get home.
I wade through the world like a husk,
I blow away in the wind.
I hate the grayness it left behind on my hands.

Really,
how can I be?
Hiding my thoughts in vaguely poetic metaphors because saying them makes my ears drip.
How could I?
Can it be the same truth I told myself that allows me to flow smoothly down the drain,
Unlovable because I make it so.

So I scream to the walls and the walls scream back,
Covering the pages in blood because I can�t breathe without being reminded it�s keeping me alive.
My soul is spilling,
The morning will be waiting by the door when I get home.

I�ll knock twice on the doorframe for good luck,
I�ll kiss the ground goodbye.
I�ll break free from gravities hold,
And I�ll make this ache a sting.

I am living life half dead,
I am circling my grave on my hands and knees and bleating to the passerbys.

I feel lost,
Like her hand could go right through me.
Because in my mind I am rushing toward the ground,
And I am freeing my soul from my veins.

After the last of the blood flows smoothly down the drain,

The morning will be waiting by the door when I come home.