Friday Night's Meanderings
(Solitude's Freewrite Friday)
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
Way to much of nothing to do,
to be, without or without you,
those seem to be the choices,
no, is the only reply I get from their voices,
I'm so tense from my tight grip,
gripping the ice below my feet preparing to slip,
down to the pavement so I can pick out the rocks,
from inbetween my knee caps, my toes, and mop up the blood with my socks,
wring them out in a tea cup and put the kettle on high,
poached, scrambled, basted, or fried?
I'm always looking forward to breakfast because of what the night brings,
when my notebook is the only one that sees me naked beneath these coverings,
that'll keep me warm for as long as I can take it,
I can't afford to buy it so I'll make it, and break it,
open for all to see what makes us tick,
I have an entire home built brick by brick,
composed of sand and solitude pouring through the hour glass,
negativity became my nativity as easy as it was fast,
focused carefully now on speed and efficiency,
that there's no point trying to get the best of me,
or the worst if that's what is the aim,
so I scaled my own living room couch and staked my claim,
for all to see my flag waving in the fall open window air,
dripping from head to toe in hardwater and despair,
toweling one off comes with greater ease than the other,
maybe that's why I'm so undercover,
that I don't even remember exactly who I'm fighting for,
and I sure as hell don't know who's fighting to me anymore,
but know that they are indeed still fighting,
and it's the fisticuffs without origin that seem so inviting,
so I'll RSVP like any polite friend,
shut off the hallway light, blow a kiss goodnight, to Friday's plight, a dignified beginning began as an end.
to be, without or without you,
those seem to be the choices,
no, is the only reply I get from their voices,
I'm so tense from my tight grip,
gripping the ice below my feet preparing to slip,
down to the pavement so I can pick out the rocks,
from inbetween my knee caps, my toes, and mop up the blood with my socks,
wring them out in a tea cup and put the kettle on high,
poached, scrambled, basted, or fried?
I'm always looking forward to breakfast because of what the night brings,
when my notebook is the only one that sees me naked beneath these coverings,
that'll keep me warm for as long as I can take it,
I can't afford to buy it so I'll make it, and break it,
open for all to see what makes us tick,
I have an entire home built brick by brick,
composed of sand and solitude pouring through the hour glass,
negativity became my nativity as easy as it was fast,
focused carefully now on speed and efficiency,
that there's no point trying to get the best of me,
or the worst if that's what is the aim,
so I scaled my own living room couch and staked my claim,
for all to see my flag waving in the fall open window air,
dripping from head to toe in hardwater and despair,
toweling one off comes with greater ease than the other,
maybe that's why I'm so undercover,
that I don't even remember exactly who I'm fighting for,
and I sure as hell don't know who's fighting to me anymore,
but know that they are indeed still fighting,
and it's the fisticuffs without origin that seem so inviting,
so I'll RSVP like any polite friend,
shut off the hallway light, blow a kiss goodnight, to Friday's plight, a dignified beginning began as an end.
