Wretched & Reckless

I strung myself along

dark precipitation streets,

flecked with the feckless,

the wretched,

the reckless.

The starry eyed denial

that could not tell the difference

between the rain

and the tears on her cheeks.

 

I took the night in silence.

The sound of yesterday’s rage

still ringing in my ears.

I was a child of violence.

I was born brave,

but I was raised on fear.

 

I had to learn to be quiet;

for years I took comfort in my own voice.

It let me know I was alive,

that I still had a say,

that I still had a choice.

 

But my choices were terrible.

Every day brought calamity’s name.

Until life was unbearable

and I couldn’t live

with the guilt

and the shame.

 

I was an anesthetist.

I put myself down.

Deep under the drugs,

just look at me now.

Love and a gun,

far away from the crowd,

with the wretched and reckless

I’ve been known to get out.

 

On nights when it’s raining,

especially dark

and uninvitingly cold.

I stroll on the pavement

by myself

all alone.

With my head full of memories.

My tattered old soul,

just looking for something

I don’t have anymore.

 

Degenerate buildings,

orphaned alleyways yawn,

full of refuse and rejects;

like my heart

and the reason

I keep moving on.

 

There’s no filling this void

left by starvation’s thrall,

but here in the rain,

in the dark,

in this city,

it doesn’t matter at all.

 

HG – 2017

 

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