My Captain

I remember all the little notes
He left around the ship;
The gentle love of which they spoke,
His most generous gift.

I remember all the little notes;
He wrote them all in rhyme,
And though he wrote no signature,
I knew the author every time.

I remember all his little notes,
And I remember still his name,
But he, I think, will never know
Why I truly came.

I remember all his little notes,
The ones he tucked away;
For I was sent to break his trust —
Instead, I ran away.

The Council of a Coward

I lost the words that I was seeking
And with them, any meaning
Of the cowardice that plagues me
And the meeting in my head

Of all my paltry virtues
And their tyrants, and the fortunes
Of failures that ever seek me
And the mistakes that keep them led

And the demons that I’m keeping
And every grim that does a reaping
And every chance that almost meets me
But then finds that I have fled

To a place worse than the last
A darker mirror of the past
Endless reflections staring back at me
Endlessly filling me with dread

But I find I cannot look away
(Or else will not — who can say?)
And the only thing that’s clear to me
Is the glass and what you said

That the choice is mine alone to make
The power, mine alone to take
But the only truth that stays with me
Is that when I broke the glass, I bled.

Ruined Worlds

Running away into ruined worlds
Where things can always be fixed
And fears can fly faster than father or brother
And daydreams and dangers are mixed.

A mask of the making of under worth the taking
Can hide away a ravenous soul
But there always are waking demons of the quaking
And demons, they never are full.

Falling down into rabbit holes
Where events don’t have to be fixed
And the failures that follow and the sadness that swallows
Can from life’s booklet be nixed.

It’s a mask of the making of truth that we’re faking
To take on a different role
But we never are slaking thirsts of demons we’re making
To be the villains that make our play whole.

Frayed

I am tired of tomorrow;
I am clinging to today,
But not because I wish to borrow
One more hour so that I can stay.

I merely have no wish to be there,
To have to face another day
When there is nothing here that I should fear
And yet, still I feel my life is frayed.

Not Me: Thinking Out Loud

I’m so sorry… Of all the things I could have been, I became this. I could’ve been like my brother and reached out and made a life for myself where I could.

But instead I’m here. Still just sitting here. Waiting for something to befall me, be it destiny or accident.

Probably accident. Screech, crash, bang, and then I’m gone, in all likelihood. It would be just like me to not be paying any attention and accidentally step in front of a car. It wouldn’t be on purpose, of course. But it wouldn’t be exactly unwelcome.

I sometimes like to pretend that I can see the future. The prediction is always the same: I’m going to die alone. It’s not even a future anymore, it’s a fact. I’m going to die alone. So what’s it matter if it’s distant or soon?

I’ve lived nineteen years, going on twenty. So young, and often much younger than I should be. And yet those years, these days, they crawl by like an eternity, and they’ve never changed in form, not really. The world is still a distant thing, and I am still… what I am: The person who walks on the path before me. And it’s still a circular one.

My brother sees this. He sees us all going in circles, ducking our heads, diving into whatever we can to hide. He wants it to change. He wants it to change — but he doesn’t want to change it. None of us do. It would be like organizing a junkyard… while being attacked by a pack of wild dogs. Nobody wants to take that on. Especially when the thing we’re taking on, is the nothingness of never taking anything on. Someone has to start. But each of us vows, it won’t be us.