Liquid Absolution

I heard that most people come here because the drinks were good and the prices deceptively cheap. No surprise that the place was almost always full.

My eyes fell on a young man to my left, a well-groomed, respectable-looking guy. But the slouch in his shoulders said something else about his appearance that his $80 jeans failed to mention. I watched him take the first gulp; dark liquid quickly sliding down his throat. It didn't take long for the drink to take effect.

At first he held her close, bringing her to his lips often like the glass he now clutched. The burn in his throat felt good; the tingle in his stomach rippled through his body every time she said his name and held him close. As the froth settled near the middle of the glass, his senses began to dull and the room began to spin. A warmness filled his chest and he closed his eyes, her face tattooed on the inside of his eyelids.

He tilted his head back and drained the remaining contents of the glass, holding out for every last drop. She still said his name often, but it didn't give him butterflies anymore. There was a bite in her voice that wasn't there before and the bitter after-taste of her words lingered longer than he cared to admit. The buzz was wearing off and pain began to return to his body as his nerves began to feel again. With a heavy hand he clunked the empty glass down on the table and reached for the next set of butterflies.

His expensive suit, silk tie, and shiny shoes looked out of place in this dingy public house. He sat down, neatly arranged the drinks in from of him and began in earnest.

The first glass brought diplomas, scholarships, internships. The first tastes of the real deal, the real world. The second was the interview and the job. The burn was good. This is what he wanted. The third took a bit more effort--sleepless nights, 18-hour days, endless cups of coffee, slaving away weeks and months--but he did it. The fourths, fifths, sixths brought promotions, the big desk with his name on it in the corner office with the view, the big paycheck. He was on a roll and he wasn't about to stop--gulp, gulp, gulp. But now that he was all tingly he couldn't see straight, now he couldn't remember his address, now he couldn't tell his kids apart, now he couldn't enjoy being at home anymore. Everything hinged on the next big sale, the next big push, the next big gulp. He soon spent far more time on business trips with corporate bigwigs or in the office having his numerous assistants running errands for him than in his own home. Okay maybe spending so much time with Stacey the Secretary wasn't the best idea, but it was part of the job right? His wife would never know; no harm, no foul. The kids had their toys, she had her luxury cars, they had their house in the hills; yet his wife was ready to leave him. Why? Why couldn't she see that he was still providing for the family and working hard as hell so she could have it easy?

His smartphone buzzed twice. It was already late; dinner at home would be beyond cold and she was already upset. But he could grab a bite on the way back to the office; one more dinner missed wouldn't be the end of the world. Plus, the quarterly report needed to be finished and these glasses weren't going to drink themselves.

Her clothes hung loosely from her thin frame and the mess of tangled hair covered eyes that no longer wished to be seen. She sat in silence clutching the handle of the mug in front of her. Her charred throat silently protested but her trembling hand soon won out and she threw back her drink.

High heels, designer clothes, hours of hair and makeup walked onto the stage to the roar of the fans and the endless clicking of cameras. She flashed the smile, lifted the award and thanked the fans again for their endless love and support. "I don't know where I'd be without you guys!" She lied. More screaming as she made her way off the stage.

When the lights went out and the cameras were off and the fans nowhere to be found, the sunken eyes, the heavy heart, and the empty glass remained. Fans or no fans, she knew where she would be--right here. Alone in a bar, a hand on the handle she never had. But the fans want more. And so did she.

Okay--not entirely sure how he even got in here. He couldn't have been older than fifteen: beanie, checkered Vans, energy drink in hand. He plopped his backpack on the floor and swapped his Monster for a glass of the dark stuff. Glancing around the room for prying eyes, he lifted the glass.

His eyes were now the ones doing the prying as his fingers began to type and the forbidden images began to flash before his eyes. His heart thuds heavily within his chest and his hands are sweaty as he tips the glass back further. The excitement of the burn is there but it is empty and pointless, a fire with much fuel but no warmth. But he continues to gulp down the swirling darkness at his fingertips. His head is spinning as he reaches the last drop. The glass hits the table, he gathers his things and stumbles out without paying. Maybe he'll pay later. Who knows--who cares.

"The usual?" The bartender finally got my attention.

"Umm, yeah. Yeah."

He slid the drink across the counter and I caught it with an unsure hand. Why I hesitated now, I... I don't know. The cold glass on my lips soon produced the familiar burn in my chest and the visions began to pass before my eyes. With a tinge of regret, I quickly threw my head back and downed the rest of my drink before I could change my mind.

"There's a smell of stale fear that is reeking from our skins
the drinking never stops 
because the drinks absolve our sins"
- The Bravery
"Believe"

not enough

Sometimes I worry that I do too much talking and not enough doing,

And then I realize I don't do very much of either.

empty seats

I still remember the first time I sat in this seat.

I was alone, kinda scared, a bit anxious. I didn't know where I was going. I thought I was going to ride alone but it was full of people--people I didn't know. So I was still alone.

Every stop people arrive and people depart. But the longer I stayed, the more the bodies filling the seats became faces I could recognize. Bodies continued to file in and walk out at every stop, but there were always a few that stayed. These few became more than familiar faces; these few I sat with and ate with; these few shared the same blue skies and dark tunnels of the ride with me. These few I'd seen the highs and lows with, I'd seen the world with these few.

At every stop, a few of the few would get up out of their seats, walk out of the open doors, and disappear into the throng on the platform. As they walked out, more walked in. More empty seats brought more empty bodies to fill them. But not every seat was filled. Some would inevitably be filled later, but some seats will always remain empty.

The doors slid shut again and we started moving again. The last stop was a big one; quite a few departed for the last time. I looked around to see who was still here. The number of empty seats continues to grow. I'm almost at my destination and number of passengers whose faces I still know is dwindling.

But the rare few who have the same ticket I do, the ones who have the same departure, the same destination; the ones who have remained from the beginning of my time to the end of line--those are the ones who have made the ride worthwhile.

When it's my turn to walk out of those doors into the swirling crowd of unknowns, I'll still have my little piece of paper as proof of my crossing over.
But destination is only half the story.

sunrise, sunset

remember when we used to gaze at the stars
and pretend that they were ours?
because those stars in the sky were the only connection we had
when the direction of our paths failed to cross
like strangers stranded on different islands
lost, hoping to be rescued and reunited again
and when the moon was overhead i couldn't hold it in
instead i would run outside
neck craned back, eyes to the sky
because deep down inside i hoped
you were doing the same thing as i
talking to the moon
praying this curse of separation would be broken soon
it was our little secret
just you and i

but now when i look into the sky
the stars that used to hang over you and i
are no longer over you, just over me
overseas, 180 degrees
ten hours ahead
when i wake up you're going to bed
two cups and string, the only thing keeping
this thing alive
is all but dead
because when you're awake im asleep in my bed
dreaming of all the words i left unsaid
and now when i search for sacred stars
i dont see them
because there's an ocean between us
a 5,000 mile reason i cant be there with you
you know i miss you

but there's gotta be another way
another way to convey what im dying say
a way to remind you
that though im not with you now
you are present in my thoughts everyday
and ill come back to you
somehow someway

last night watching the sun set it dawned on me
the big ball of yellow falls below the horizon i see
sinks into darkness and flies across the sea
to climb a different horizon outside your window
same sun different day

i know we cant see the sun at the same time
(well, unless you get up at sunrise)
but keep in mind that Sunny spends his time with me
before he makes his way over to you
so he'll tell you everything i tell him to
sunbeams from me passed along to you
i realized this is true
a way to get from me to you

ill tell him how much i miss you
how the smile on your face never fails
to erase any trace of doubt that
every moment with you
however few
is so worth it
how the sound of your voice gives me
no choice but to remember that
even though we sometimes cant speak for weeks
you're still there for me
even over the phone
feels like im back at home

there are no words for the warmth of the sun
for the life it gives, the light it spreads
so when my day is done
the sun, like a faithful messenger bird,
will carry all my words that have no words
so when the sun passes before your eyes,
when you see the light reaching above the horizon at sunrise
remember
he's talking to you
i'm talking to you
and even though the clouds sometimes block the sun from view
the sun always prevails and comes shining through
so i'll swim the atlantic ocean, ill do what i have to do
to make sure that whenever the sun comes out to smile on you
he's bringing my love from me to you

most me

When I have a lot to do, when I have no time to lose
anything I choose that doesn't accomplish my list of things to do
is a distraction
when I'm mentally detached from what hold the most traction
is when I'm most distracted, when my mind is attacked
with all the things that don't matter
trumping with all the things I could
potentially squander if I don't get started right away
when I'm most distracted my thoughts start to wander
and when my mind starts to walk away
my focus becomes far-sighted and I can't think about today
I thrive on things I'd rather do, on places I'd rather see, on the person I'd rather be
when I'm distracted I see things I never see
perception grows exponentially
for me this is an escape from reality
however momentary, short, or temporary
because sometimes the world is an intimidating place to be
but this distraction is a comfort to me
as long as this distraction allows me to transcend
the normalcy of to-dos hanging over me
because honestly
it's when I'm tied-down that I'm most free
when I'm blind I can better see
when I'm scared I can act most courageously
when I'm drowning I can better learn to breathe
when I'm most distracted I'm most me
gravitating towards things that yearn to be
my fingers begin dance and my soul breathes with ease
when I find myself writing scribbles like these
so when time is most pressing, when real life is too upsetting
I'll gladly distract myself, placing sanity on the shelf
for a few seconds of clarity, if that's what it takes

Worst-case Scenerio

It sits in the back of my mind, buried under the skin

eating at my flesh and feeding on my fears

At every wrong step, every collision of bone

in every sharp pain and cry of agony

I can feel growing

bigger and stronger

sprouting wings and curved teeth, wielding sharp claws

endlessly gnawing in the back of my head

like a maggot nestled in warm flesh

I can't live with this monster in my head

I can feel it sinking deeper with every doubtful thought 

it grows and deepens and burns 

And then the worst part of the nightmare

I wake up on the table to realize my pain has become reality

completely destroyed and hastily pieced back together

a mess of metal bars and steel plates remain

then I realize the nightmare has just begun 

abandoned again

it's full again

i can hear young ones rattling doors, yanking handles, banging on windows
clambering to get in and screaming to get out
but i don't have time

i don't have time to develop or grow little minds
to their full potential
to their maximum height
under developed and malnourished

instead they sit and they rot, they scream and they cry
leftover tears wrinkling soft skin
overripe and ugly
until i can't stand it anymore
and i toss them out
back into the street, back into a forgotten stream of consciousness
never to see or hear from them again

i should probably feel guilty for being so cruel
i should probably repent for being inhumane
i should be ashamed

But I don't have time.