Handle With Care (Poetry)

Sometimes

Sometimes, I think we're all a little bit broken, just fragmented pieces and worn out pinball machines just looking for a token, someone to bounce the sound of their laughter between the prongs of our heat strings as we dine on smiles and the beautiful face that lights up the screen with the word "Winner" We all just want to know that there's a reason we made it. That there is a purpose to this existence, beyond simply living, so that when wound turns to highway we can drive down it. Sometimes, I think loneliness is more than just contagious, but if you kiss me I swear I will kneel to your greatness, and give power to the absurdity that any moment could ever be as perfect as this. But the cast of my fractured soul is dried up and cracking, and I can feel myself spilling from the holes, can feel the splinters in my bones screaming at me to run from the heart ache. Maybe I'm just not ready to create, anything other than the sadness I've been bleeding out of every pore of my body, sometimes I wish I could just tell somebody of the horrors playing symphonies in my mind, I feel like insanity is reaching out towards me knowing I am just one breakdown away from sanctuary. But tell me, will I make it out this time? I've been searching for answers, stalking psychic networks, all in the hopes that the great gig in the sky will allow me to play a simple tune. I don't have much rhythm and my rhymes not that good, but I swear if given the chance I will touch those keys with a gentleness that will make even the sun weep in gratitude. Sometimes, I envy the moon. It hangs there like the last I love you in a fading romance, like the whisper of a secret between friends that you giggle and laugh about because no one else can quite understand what it is that makes sharing a secret such a powerful contract. Sometimes, I wish I could just disconnect, shut off the world for a single minute and just drown in the silence that follows, to not have to listen to the blaring angst of humanity that threatens to rip me apart at the seams, to take out just one single stitch so I slowly unravel inch by inch in a dazzling display of misery. Sometimes I just feel lonely, and there's no reason to the madness that flows out of my pen like a river of red on translucent skin, there's no method to the insanity that grips my mind in a choke hold of who did this and who did that, life is a soundtrack of mistake on mistake, like a record that skips over the best part of the song every single time you play it, like a bully that just sits there and laughs while you pick yourself up, because life keeps pushing you down, and you can't forget the taste of the ground, or how the dirt felt on your hands when you had to get back up and confront him again. Had to hold back the tears like they weren't threatening to collapse and drown you in every flaw he pointed out that day, how may times have you stood before the mirror and not felt okay? I honestly can't remember a time when I didn't look at myself with a thinly veiled look of disgust, as if to say, do I really look this way? Sometimes I feel sorry for everyone who has to know me, knowing that nothing will quite be able to save me from the hang mans noose I've tied for myself, because bad days are plenty and good days are few and I''m through waiting to sometimes feel better, because sometimes just isn't enough.