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I Can'T Go Anywhere Without My Damn Notebook
I have no intuition, I hope you don’t either. I mark down the strength of these rings On my weak fingers to make me stronger. The glowing blue gem Makes me powerful again And again, I want to die. It’s amazing how, the way we wear our jewelry, Often tells us something about our will to live, Because I saw the kid with the tight necklace, Black, like my shoelaces, But not from dye, from the muddy walk home, And taught, like a noose, And despondent, as my body, And I knew this boy, like me Wanted to die. So now we are friends And together, we will never kill ourselves As others do But we will never smile or hold hands as lovers do, Tying, together the laces of our black shoe. The butterfly’s wings have broken and Strawberry drops float down from the clouds. I can’t go anywhere without my damn notebook. I’m incomplete without my damn notebook And I’m incomplete anyway. The way those leaves just fell off the tree Makes me want to cry Or write a story, Which is the same thing really, If tears tell a story, And like I said before, even if you think I’m boring, I believe in the power of tears And one salty explosion is enough to get me running; Not running to nowhere and not running away And the day has become dark again Just as the pages in my journal With each passing spasm of my spastic hands I don’t know what it means to be happy I’m not even happy spasmodically And this is just another story of manic-depression So don’t listen to it if you don’t understand and Don’t write stories if you want someone to hear Because the mania is at my door again And I won’t kill it, not this time, Let it knock, one, no two Times more, times four. Eight times knock the mania but the mania is What puts me to sleep So how can I deny what in the end is peaceful And how can I deny what is productive, The only production in my life; For though I, through my idiot parents, Was reproduced, will not myself reproduce Any more demons into this messed up well Of sameness. I don’t want my precious demons To become the same, just like every --one else
Copyright © 2024 Brooke Wolfe. All Rights Reserved

Book: Shattered Sighs