Regrets on Repeat During a Rabid Quarantine Contemplation

Posted on by meltingneurons
1000th Album from Out of Line Records
Album cover from German band Signal Aout 42

Give me back the good ole’ days,
when I didn’t know I had been a dick,
before my eyes got opened wide
when I didn’t know I was supposed to think that I was slick.
’cause now there’s nowhere left to run,
the drugs aren’t making new connections,
copper wire all stripped bare and caked in black,
who knew that feeling guilty wouldn’t be so fun.
When disassociation was best friend,
wide-eyed ignorance was true enough
shame comes boiling on
like napalm from
the surface of a once forgiving sun.
So self-important in critique
that I’m burying the good parts inside the shit
convinced that its still black and white
and regardless of the truth,
I deserve to be punished.
for the right, the wrong, the sick,
that stupid mindless babble
even my well-intentioned songs.
Keep it all so serious now,
that panic seems always at the door,
instead of basking in the freedom from
that monster inside that damaged so much the world.
Enjoy the chance to roll again,
spin through ridiculously insane normalcy,
let feet hit a brand new road and leave behind insecurities, all fallacies–

—start the insurrection.

Ownership

Posted on by meltingneurons

green wooden chair on white surface
Photo by Paula Schmidt on Pexels.com

Motivations interviewed and irrelevant,

I’ll lay my head guilty pressed on insignficant,

For cowards face never the burning sun,

They’ll hide in shadow and deep shades for far,

Too long to justify,

Too short to miss the feelings of defense,

A good name is relative depending on who plays the better game.

I’d settle for naught but honesty,

Review of self with society as whole the juror,

Makes for fearful selling,

That for each wounding action their is a conflict acting.

Were each moment played off the last,

All credit due for manipulations, scheming, mind games,

But each one remaining new,

Pure of outside intrusion more than human,

That would board for explanation.

To the inn keeper who lent a room,

Truth be told I wanted warmth without the price,

For both myself and my wife,

Without money on hand my labor was an easy price,

We left you a story and a poem,

You gave us peaceful hours till we meet again.

The individuals who have given freely and randomly,

Not all your funds went to the gas tanks,

In fact I know,

Aside from coffee and some flowers,

Much has gone to calm the sway of panic,

I regret to say booze to numb the world,

In this turmoil and limbo I’ve fallen to the ease of calling it a moral disease,

Let myself be sold to the desire,

A bottle sits easier sometime when buried in mental wreckage,

Burning in quagmire.

I’ve had bouts with lifting,

Ignoring and getting loud with my wife,

Falling short at jobs and seemingly checked out on life.

Surely by the standard of the world I’m guilt ridden as sinning,

My core personality is crawling back though,

Believe in its honesty or not,

I will sit down with a young woman and try to share her pain,

With my wife, bath tubs and reruns, church and tradition,

Moving Christmas boxes for a hot meal from a kitchen.

I’m finding a stride,

And yes, I am open to denouncement and decry,

I’m a fool touching down,

Getting his head scanned and on meds again,

Trying my best,

Hell, signed up for college and even showed for the test.

I’m far from perfect,

And I’ll sign to the tune of my own recognition,

Of failings I make,

Mistakes or plain fuckery from more rebellious days,

For the first time in long months though,

With eyes clear to the world,

As much as they can be,

I’m on a road to improvement,

On bettering up my awareness,

So that I can be I,

You can be you,

And together bring each other ourselves,

You and I, us and we.