Tag Archive for Cynicism

A Tragedy in Two Parts

I’m still sitting on this wall, the brick chill cutting through my jeans. I take a swig of beer, wipe the condensation from my hand onto the dark denim, watch the smoke from my cigarette curl into the dark woods before disappearing into the sky. I am aware of the club behind me in the same way that I am aware of the seven foot drop under my dangling feet; it’s there but I’m not going to fall.

Footsteps on the patio behind me. It’s probably just another couple come to take advantage of one of the picnic tables. I place my beer down on the wall next to me ignoring them with a forceful drag on the cigarette. I don’t smoke.

She’s suddenly there, on the wall with me, and for a moment I’m afraid she’s upset the beer can, precariously balanced on the old, crumbly bricks. But no, there it is, safe on my other side. We sit in silence for a moment as she contemplates her intertwined fingers and I continue to watch the dark woods in front of me. I finish my cigarette, stub it out, light another. I don’t smoke.

She’s looking at me now. I can feel her eyes on the side of my head.

“I’m sorry about… I’m sorry.” I do not respond. What response is there? I could tell her I’m sorry too, or that I’m not sorry and neither is he, so why should she be? Or that he was… is… a bastard, or that inside I’m crying but I don’t cry so… but she’s speaking again. The cigarette is shaking; highlighted by my apparent verbal incapacity, I can feel her attention focused on it. I don’t smoke.

“I hate men.” This said quietly, but with a strange, lightning vehemence that captures my full attention instantly. I glance at her sideways with a laugh that might have passed for a cough. It could have been a cough. I don’t smoke.

She’s looking at me again, but I’m back in the woods. If I turn my head I will be able to see her eyes and then I will know what she means. But it’s her move in this strange game we’ve been playing, and I remain still. I feel her look away again. Pass. Her disappointment is palpable, and I wonder what she wants from me, why she cares about my reaction, or lack thereof. I wonder how much she knows. I make my own move with a quick flick of the cigarette. I don’t smoke.

“I don’t like men,” she says again, even more quietly, if that’s possible. I grunt noncommittally before inhaling another lungful of smoke. The red embers glow violently in the night before fading to dull gray ash. I don’t smoke.

“No, I mean it. I really don’t like men.” Louder. She gets her desired response. I take the cigarette out of my mouth with the hand previously reserved for beer and look at her. It’s her turn to look at the woods now. When she turns her head, too suddenly for me to pretend not to notice, to look away quickly. Our eyes meet, green on more green. We both know that I know what she means. The next move is mine.

I should say, me neither, and pretend not to know what she means, turn back to the forest and my cigarette. I should say, me neither, and lean in, close my eyes, close the shallow distance between us, close this game. I should leap down seven feet and she should follow, and whatever happened then would be between our self-control and our fate.

But I don’t believe in fate, and I don’t smoke.

I look away from her. “Don’t we all,” I say ruefully as I stub my cigarette out. I swing my legs over the wall, start to leave and turn back. I do not look at her as I collect my beer from its ledge, down it, and crush the can. The metal crumples easily against my hand. I leave her sitting on the wall as I return to the glaring lights and pervasive bass booster, to my drunk and currently–conspicuously-cheating-in-a-corner boyfriend. Without taking my eyes off the unabashed gratification in front of my eyes, I sit down on a stool, take out another cigarette, and ask the bartender for a light. I don’t smoke.

I Hate People, I Love Strangers

People may walk side by


But animosity lies deep within one another

People are selfish creatures, preying on the weak and bowing to the strong

When will hate fall and love spring?

Emotions run wild when I see people at first glance

Sometimes when I’m in bed I think of faceless dozens

I’m surprised at how much I love them

Those intimate to me don’t compare to the love I have for strangers

Needless to say, I hate people—I love strangers

Mothering Kind

I was thinking

of donating

my ovaries;

They are of no use to me.


Let some other willing


flower the earth

with babies,


(much like a dandelion

scattering seeds).


Shower me with scorn;

I stand firm in my decision.


I am not the mothering kind.

I Could Fill Each Line

I could fill each line

Every single blank space

In the entire world

Force it upon people

“Poetry. It’s poetry. I’m a poet”

I would say haughtily

And it wouldn’t mean anything

I could sit and spew words in ink

Wind Elephant Moon Tattoo

And insist that it’s poignant

Only me and the “ignorant”

Would know I’m full of shit

And that I don’t say anything

Everything is disposable

Why should words be different?

I’m not sure, but in rare cases

They are different

And effecting

And altering

These words aren’t

But when it burns right

And your mind makes it to the page

It is—in a way no one can explain.


The reality of solitude

Is simple and obvious

Though entirely unspoken

But the practice

The goddamned practice

Is another issue completely

Best described as blurry

And constantly fluctuating.

If we’re as singular as evidence shows

Why are there so many people?

It seems that despite every yin

Having a yang

There is no balance in people:

When one is needed

They’re in hibernation

(or their souls at least)

And when all that’s desired

Is peace and time to sift through

Our individual insanity

You’re swamped by insipid people

Wanting from you

What they don’t give in return

When Will They Realize?

When will they realize things aren’t the same?

We try to deal with it in our own ways,

Only confining in those who realize.


Sometimes we aren’t that lucky.

Only finding comfort in ourselves.

Thinking, overanalyzing, trying to understand.

Destroying all faith by losing our innocence so soon.


When will they realize we’re wise beyond our years?

Sometimes I think wiser than them.


Scared, frightened, yet grasping all concepts.

Closing ourselves off by thinking of consequences.

Intimidated by happiness and those who find

it, But silently begging for their secrets.


When will they realize they aren’t helping?

Just making us dream of what could be.

Increasing the pain, making it harder to heal,

And if it does, leaving permanent scars.


When will they realize?

Waking Up, But Not Really…

As the world spins, grows

and dies

I’m too absorbed in petty problems

constant apathy

an unhappy soul

to feel anything

I’m the embodiment

of a wasted existence

I notice nothing outside

my car or bank balance

and know no other way

I haven’t heard music

for such a long time

but it’s time for work

another day’s here

and these waking thoughts

will soon be crushed

under the terrifyingly simple

thoughtless thoughts.

Bart’s People

Yes you too can be one of Bart’s people


A rebel

Blaspheming God and man

and if you can

making trouble for other people

A steeple

An idol

to evil

A weevil

of malice

A palace

of destruction


into the lives of others

chocolate centre


but the heart

is what counts

and if you can change the heart

then black will go

and you will no longer be one of

Bart’s people.

My Filth Is Hidden

I shove all my filth in the closet

And you don’t know the difference.

I hide all my clutter

And you think me clean.


I have practiced this façade for so long

And now you can’t see through it.

I disguise all my garbage

And you think what’s left is me.


I once was transparent

Once you could see right through me.

But then I discovered this smile and these words

Could hide it all from you.


Deep in that corner,

In that dark corner I protect,

Lie all my secrets

Lies all my filth

Lies all my sin.


But I put on a smile and you don’t know it’s there

I tell a story and you forget

I show you my desk and you think me clean

And you can’t see through me

For all my filth is hidden.

Why Distractions Exist…

Once the sex stops

and the last bus has gone

you start to wonder again

and all you know

is that you don’t know

a damn thing

the cigarettes are gone

and there aren’t any distractions

to take your mind off the hurt

I hurt

but no matter how much I bleed

I still am myself

so what can I do?

I don’t want what I have

and have no means to get what I want

I’m lost at home

and full of emptiness

I can’t comprehend

a person called me.

Mirror Dance

Be what they want to see,

mirror their desire.

Don’t try to be

what you hope and dream;

it can’t happen

in this mirror dance.

Be what they expect,

mirror their thought.

Don’t try to do

the things you dream to do;

it will never happen

in this mirror dance.


The steps have been written,

the music taught.

There isn’t room for anything

that might be yours alone.


Be what they want to see,

mirror their desire.

Don’t try to be what you hope and dream;

it can’t happen

in this mirror dance.


Learn the steps swiftly.

Pray you do not fall,

for the music plays on;

the deadly music

of life’s mirror dance.