Vacuum or Vampire? Either way, you Still Suck
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Clearly there is someone this poem is aimed at. But the first stanza tells you almost everything you need to know; there's sort of a hidden meaning. "I keep retriggering your created catastrophes, but somehow I can never find the evidence to prove it". I'm trying to find proof that this person created these stresses in my life but I can't find it. Why can't I? Because I created it myself. The line about a "book of accountability" explains this too. It's implying that I could take accountability but I wouldn't know what to do with it, so I don't and keep blaming this person. The second and third lines are basically painting me as a cop, but I say "I'm the worst this towns ever seen". I say this because I can't find the evidence for the "catastropes" this person "created". I'd be a horrible cop in this way because I would be going after the wrong suspect and I wouldn't be able to prove them guilty. Because they aren't guilty, I am. I created these catatrophes without knowing but I blame it on this person because they were based off of experiences with them. Another line later on that confirms this is "busting out the sewing machine to blindly patch these self-inflicted wounds". I'm patching wounds that are self inflicted because again, I did this to myself. And I'm doing it blindly because I can't quite put it together that it is my fault and not this persons. I am a very self aware person in general but this poem is interesting. It plays around with self awareness but the lyrics imply that I don't quite know it yet. I'm close to putting my finger on it but I still cast my blame on this person, though certain lines slip through that would make it seem like I am close to understanding whos really to blame but I'm not quite there yet. Blame is a common theme in a lot of my most recent work like this one, though this is one of the first poems where I explore the conflict of what pain was caused by another and what was caused by my own actions.
A Hallmark card would have sounded sweeter than that
My shiny badge of defusion and falsely sworn merit
I’m the worst this town’s ever seen!
But I want justice for this
I keep retriggering your created catastrophes
But somehow, I can never find the evidence to prove it
And there's so much room in your library of wealth
I can take this book of accountability but I wouldn't know where to store it
Fact or fiction is your description?
Is your tone peachy or melancholy?
And how much time do I have to pass before you forget my lapse in judgment completely?
Oh I’m plenty protective, just as long as I don’t have to prove it
So what,
Your teeth are sharpened to points?!
So are my pencils to fend off your spirits
with my strengthened platitudes
But you won't ever see them
cause your feet are anchored into the floor of your room
But you don't see me dragging this on
You won't see me downing the poison this soon
Busting out the sewing machine
to blindly patch these self-inflicted wounds
You're not Amelia Earheart
We're not playing hide and seek with your identity
For all I know, you might've chucked it into a landfill already
Along with every citizen secret that will never make it to the right person
One man’s trash is another man’s burden
Burying your anger
But you never go back and dig it up later
Always picking a fight with the wall
But somehow, you always lose
Every life lesson failed is one more knuckle laced with a bruise
Black and blue like the ego you spit out and chew
I guess it's hard for me to understand
Cause I still love the life I chose
But we also know
That a life of notebooks soaked in tear-water
While quietly slitting our shells,
Is not any better
Go back to the pen that keeps you so busy
Or the number calling that you'd rather see
But I will never forget the time you went on about how much I mean to you,
Even if you expected me to
I can't relate to your struggle with purpose
Rather I ponder about my kindness and ask "can I preserve this?"
And with every mental cigarette burn of wondering if you deserve this
Still, the thought of you with someone else
Puts even my happiest thoughts into a decaying abyss
I don't struggle with purpose because it is this
A curse on my life to always miss this
But there's no need to raise the gun to my head,
When I'd openly admit that it's still worth it
Oh I’m plenty protective,
only of my reputation and outward perspective
A curse on my life to always fantasize
Why can’t I have this?
So put your best foot forward through the arch of your isolate haven
As I crawl back to my requisite self-made cist
Copyright © Matthew Bailey | Year Posted 2023
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