drunken dinner date

you write to heal,    i write to suffer.     a penmanship stab wound to the soul     for an "exactly" type of moment.     the exact moment i might be ok   .     i force feed my mind words i've spewed over and over and over and over     obsessively fixated on properly dressed sequential words     to feel the anxiety driven outrage once more     completely.     enthralled. so i poke at my heart & i poke at my mind & i poke at my eyes continuously.     to feel something more.     to mean something more.     possibly to avoid moving forward even?     who knows, who cares, its mine, my feeling.     dreaming in the past or rebelling the future     emotions to the tenth acting as a high speed chase with reality     avoiding and avoiding and avoiding and ..fleeing

a shadow cascade of sweet serenity
seconds worth of self doubt washing over me.
break lights
break lights
3000 miles in the wrong lane
& i missed my exit
can't catch my breath
i need to feel something
on my own.
too dependant to shed a rightful tear.
better yet, i'll save these words for yesterday's dinner & molest the pill cabinet to avoid the hangover.