Dark Days

A Poem for Painters

Truth is...
I hear you shrieking
I hear you singing
I hear you praying
I hear you cursing
the pain.

But we rise
like shining martyrs
cut down the darkness
past light speed red
canyons in Arizona,
where he Indian thing
allows us to think
tribal thoughts

All art passed before me.
All the rules and regulations
have stopped.
wonderful, unimaginable things
happen to you when
youre blessed by the muse,
the curse, the habit of being
a poet, a painter, a man.





[edit on 18-1-2009 by whaaa]

Truth is
I shrink and curse inside
I don't understand this life
Why there is so much pain

Yes, I rise
But I'm no martyr
I'm a coward
A dullard...a retard
I'm psychotic
Just ask the wife

I dig the native thing
A peace pipe
On a red hill
With the red men
No women in sight
The peote giving insite

To my native friends
I am One Brown Eye
No one is better than me
No one is worse
We are human beings
Sharing the universe
Sharing the Earth

Pablo Picasso
Was never called an asshole
He had his art
And his art was his thing
Women came second to that
And they came and went

But they never called him an asshole
They gave him respect
He was Picasso

Truth is
I'm a liar
When I tell you that everything's fine
That life is peachy
That the reason you can't reach me
Is because I'm pre-occupied

Truth is
I purposely ignore your calls
When I see your name on the ID
Because you'll know it
And I will show it
The mask I wear, is a disguise

Truth is
I'm too weak right now
To let you see me this way
Because I'm hard
Always standing guard
For you, when you need to cry

Truth is
I'm broken, and I can't fix me
I just need some more time
Beacuse I'm not ready
My hands aren't steady
I can't be your shoulder tonight

Truth is
I know that you know
And I continue to pretend you don't
Because I'm proud
And I'm not allowed
To show you my unstable side

Truth is
I won't answer the door
When I'm in this stupor, this state
Once in a while it hits me
When I'm not prepared it gets me
And my knees are stuck to floor

Truth is
My days are darker right now
Darker then they've ever been
Black all around me
Darkness surrounds me
I comfort my own cries

Truth is
I wish you would lie to me
About knowing I'm not okay
Because it hurts me
Your eyes burn through me
When I see the truth in your eyes



Truth is
I just don't want your help


- Carrot

Truth is . . . .harbored.
It is . . .shaped.

If truth is honesty . . .then why can I not speak truthfully sometimes ?

If I told you honestly what was on my mind, you'd think me crazy,
you'd think me warped, uncouth, and lazy.

Truth is . . . .I can't really say what's on my mind,
And maybe you can't either.

Sometimes truth hurts. Sometimes it saves.
Sometimes it heals, sometimes it flays.

Truth is both good and bad. Truth can make us happy or sad.

We filter the truth as need be.

Some people can't handle the truth.

Truth is . . . .

( I don't know if I can continue to modify the truth. Honestly. )

LIFE WITHDRAWAL

I quietly retreat from societies demands.
Instead I dream of foreign lands.
Of sights unseen by desperate eyes;
No desire remains for realities lies.

Sit me alone in sunset's view,
So my mind can filter through all untrue.
With hope that peace will find me there;
And shun all that which brought despair.

I have no need for human hands
No need for others' constant demands
No need for misery, cries or alibis
I choose not to compromise

Now, with nothing better to do
I find a rope and fix me a nice noose

I climb on up without hesitation or a care
Put the rope around my neck and kick out the chair

The rope breaks . . .I land with a thud,
Maybe the guy up there . .my Bud,
Has lent a hand.

Hard to understand. Why ?

I sigh, and begin again to wallow,
In a life that I can't swallow,
Where did I put that bottle ?

Maybe I can wallow if I have a swallow from the bottle . . .of Holy Water.

My Holy Water, in a clear glass bottle
With a cap the color of red
"Holy" by my standards only
I should just drink Sprite instead

A second chance, this is a sign
A do-over and a chance to do right
To live my life, and take back my time
I was given it back, tonight

Someone is watching me, I feel their gaze
As I put the bottle back under the sink
Someone is looking out for me, I think
As I battle these dark days


- Carrot


Edit: Forgot an S





[edit on 1/27/2009 by CA_Orot]

The bottles under the sink
are proof of ecstasy.
Why litter the floor
with phrases?
American poets die
of alcohol, Americana
self parody, bad sex
and poison peanut butter

"Pray for me and
die rotten" the men's
room wall said.
What an enormous
equation, to dance
while others moan
in pain.
We're never going
to find any answers
until we find that word.

This statement is thought-provoking . . .

"What an enormous equation : to dance while others moan in pain."

I feel what you're saying.

Hope Excitable Boy is doing okay.

As do I



Our rituals define us

To dance hwile others moan in pain
Or to slice open my jugular vein
And bleed on their pain again and again

To dance is to moan
To moan is to pray for life
Instead of being the prey of life

Do hwat you want to prove your alive
I moan in pain inside every day
I dance on the outside and say I'm okay










[edit on 30-1-2009 by Excitable_Boy]

This dance I've done a million times
I've perfected the art of telling lies
To myself and to you
There's going to be more of you
You're not special

Falling into an old routine
Exercise my right to be free
I'll dance with you till the night is through
There's always going to be more of you
You're not special

Buy my drinks and light my smoke
Help me take on and off my coat
Woo me all you want, but its true
There's always another one of you
You're not special

Shut up and Dance.
I don't talk about tomorrow.
I don't want breakfast.
I just want to dance.
Shut up, and let me dance.


- Carrot

I don't like your dance
So dance alone
You want a drink?
Then buy your own

I didn't come here
To get laid or played
Leave me be
With my beer and whiskey

Slide on over
To someone else
Someone who gives a damn
Someone with a pulse

Are you lonely?
Who the # isn't?
Take a ticket
And get in line

You whine in your wine
Your stylish red
The color of your nose
The color of death

I see you have your own drink now
So pull up a chair and let's make a toast
"Here's to you licking my spew"

A buddy of mine used to say that all the time
Not something to say to win points
But something to say to skanks in gin joints

By the way you can buy the next round
I'm a modern guy who believes in equality
You know, you really are very pretty

So what brings you here tonight
I don't care but I'm trying to be polite
I'm so dead inside I have no desire

I would rather sit here and drink
Then try and get in your pants
That game is old and I'm too tired

My lack of interest makes you try harder
Makes you come out of character
You're not tough at all. You're needy

Sure I'll go home with you
But don't expect anything to happen
I'm about to blackout and pass out

So you brought me home anyway
Was it all you expected
How many minutes before you felt rejected

You want to go at it now
Sorry I have some place I need to be
You're not at all pretty and I'm dead inside

You're not the one she's looking for
Getting laid or getting played
Either way she knows the game
She'll play as well as any man
Keep your judgements
Because you don't know
The war she fights everyday
She let him go

What exactly are you here for?
To cry in your bourbon about the things you've lost?
The things you miss and things you need
Don't stare at her with those eyes
She'll hit the ground running and take you home
Everyone is here for the same reason
To forget something
To forget someone

She'll swirl the wine, and lick her lips
She'll dance to the beat and move her hips
She'll sway with the music and try to forget
The things she lost, the men she's met
Who said anything about having sex?

No one here wants to be alone
Both of you just need to be
Around people in times like these
Shut your eyes and listen as the band plays
She's hit the bottom
And she knows she'll be fine
She just needs one last dance tonight
Before she faces her dark days


- Carrot



[edit on 1/31/2009 by CA_Orot]

Nineteen ninety seven
Mom died and I moved into
Her house of ghosts
And sadness...

I was alone
The drinking was deadly
The bottle my enemy
And we fought...

We fought day and night
Month after month
This was the town I grew up in
And I was back...

For the wrong reason
I hung at the only local hole
Along with the local assholes
And I didn't fit in...

I was there on Christmas day
The place was pretty full
Full of assholes
And I met one...

I thought she was in my class
She had no class
Trashy towny troll
And I took her to the haunted house...

We dated for a little while
Last time I saw her
I was a couple years sober
And she was pregnant smoking a cigarette...

reply to post by Excitable_Boy

---

I just had to reply to myself. I was thinking a lot today about this little ditty I wrote yesterday.

It's hard to believe I let this little angel slip through my fingers. That's what I was thinking.

On with the poetry, prose and what not...