As Seen On the Internet: A (slightly modified) Compilation Page 4
“You’re unbelievable.” She rolled her eyes, dropping her arms and the packed bags in them as she retreated back down my hallway. My hallway is forgettable.
Her face is not. A feeling, deeper than the impulses and reactions I was suppressing, deeper than the responses I refused to give, emerged and controlled my motion. I reached an arm out after her hand, grabbing it and pulling myself to her back, falling to my knees as I wrapped both arms around her waist.
“It’s all so messed up!” I sobbed into her back, trying to make her understand, “I just don’t know what to do! Please tell me what to do…” I wanted to keep shouting, but my voice wavered and fell as I had.
“You’ll have to talk to the psych.” Dr. Scorttes voice rang through my ears, his chair and himself sitting impossibly inside of our living room. She didn’t seem to notice him but I had turned my head just before my ears started to ring with another voice, “You’ll just have to follow me, Mr. Henderson.” The attendant called out, trying to wake me from whichever fever dream she thought I was in. Before I could process her voice, the psychiatrist and my wife began an argument before me. Further alienating the woman I had my arms wrapped around.
Their voices bounced off of each other, echoing through my ears, intensifying with each syllable, repeating lines over and over. I forced my eyes shut in the hopes that I could escape again. To be taken to any memory or any dream. Anything that wasn’t where I was. I pulled my arms away from her waist and covered my ears to no avail. I buckled over, forehead to knees, hyperventilating in fearful anxiety.
“Can everyone PLEASE be quite?!” I screamed, the only time my voice hadn’t failed me. As each voice went dead silent, I was left with my own sobbing as the only thing I could hear. But only briefly. Another voice calling to me, only unfamiliar.
…Matt
…Matthew
…Matthew
“Matthew,” The voice pulled me away from my rest once more. My body seemed weak, as weak as my voice had been. My half opened eyes spotted a doctor standing above me, in an actual hospital room. His facial features were forgettable, but familiar all the same. His name badge seemed blurry at the edge of my vision, but I was more focused on his words, “Welcome back to the land of the living.” He looked through charts, making sure to look down at me just to make sure I hadn’t faded out of consciousness again, “During our last round of scans, we found a sort of…” I watched him look for the right word to use, something that wouldn’t scare me, “anomaly.” He went with it, “A couple of the nuts and bolts in your noggin’ were overworking. Long story short, we’re expecting you to recover from it.” He smiled.
“Thanks doc…” I smiled weakly back.
“Yeah, all you have to do…is…take
…your pills
…your pills
… your pills?”
“I said are you done?” The voice asked again. My wife. She had been waiting with the same impatient stare in the bathroom, “Are you done taking your pills?” I had to grip the bridge of my nose before I could refocus on the situation. The first thing to come to my attention was the bottle of medication in my hand. The second was the nagging thought of how I got home. Or when.
“I…” I started, feeling a vague feeling of déjà vu, “How long have I been standing here?” It seemed like the right thing to say.
“You said you were going to take those 15 minutes ago.” She answered, almost worried, “I assume you’ve been here since.
I had thought a lot, maybe too much, which meant I was blinking in turn. It must have looked strange from where she was standing, “I’m sorry.” I said, placing the bottle on the sink. This time…it didn’t feel like a lie. I was concerned, concerned that I had concerned her.
“I think tonight you should get some sleep.” She had said, without dropping her gaze, “But, since I know you won’t, do you—.”
“No.” I interrupted, smiling as I met her eyes, walking in close so I could wrap my arms around her again, “I think I’d really just like to be with you tonight.” Her eyes seemed to soften as she smiled at me, giving me a kiss on the cheek as she retreated away from the bathroom doorway.
“Then I’ll meet you in there.” She had begun to walk away.
Once again, she left me with and by myself. Alone to stare into the bottle of pills in my hand before setting them aside and chasing after her.
My hallway is gray and neutral. My hallway is far from forgettable. With pictures of my wife hung all around and snapshots of our wedding accompanying them. None vague, none neutral. My hallway is worth remembering.
Poetry
A brief compilation of chronologically scattered poetry
During the Night – For the time I thought I would never sleep
I really envy the characters from movies
I'm jealous of their visible arcs
of the palpable progression they make
of the neat happy endings they get to have
But more than anything,
I'm jealous they get to have montages.
I wish so much that I could skip through the day with a few
scene transitions.
I wish so hard that I could undercut the malignancy with
a cross fade.
But more than anything,
I envy the way they skip the night.
I so desire the ability not to lay in bed for hours.
Not to toss and turn through the early midnight's.
I wish I didn't have to be alone with my thoughts.
Contemplating responses to conversations that will never take place.
But more than anything,
I wish I wasn't alone with my memories.
I wish so badly to not be trapped with these
pitiable
vague
alluring
destructive memories.
Depictions – For the time the bus ride was unusually existential
Dreary days, darkened skies
Thunder playing for distant crowds
Soaking streets and bare white lies
hollow skies with space for crying clouds
Is the ground truly holy if it lay untouched?
Is it the rain's fault for failing to infiltrate?
Or maybe the clouds for dropping them from too high up
Or even the leaves for failing to abate
I've watched the world go by through a window while I daydreamed
And wondered if a rhyme scheme really made it poetry
If ABAB captures the fragrances of
Soaking Pavement
Old Gasoline Tanks
Wood Posted Mailboxes
Or Humming Power Lines
Or if I can properly describe the drifting sounds of
Wind Chimes
Car Wheels Grinding Away From The Office
Exchanged Thanks
Or Any Other Statement
Or perhaps not,
perhaps wind eludes even my most tranquil thought
I can't define the swooping chills or goosebumps of gusting cries carried on the droplets of freshly minted rain, the murmurs of nature calling through rustled leaves and side paneled homes. Feeling the tilt of a planet against your face, feeling the warming pull of tempest's call and the excitement of the past voices it carries.
Perhaps rust will forever remain a shade of red
A pure sensation that cannot be said
I can't describe the feeling of rubbing an index finger against the oxidized surface, peeling humbled metal away in flakes of red dust and the charred remains of proud steel. Feeling the sturdy decay, feeling the uneven grace of rot brought briefly to life only by the heat of a single drop of exhumed blood.
But there are some things I just don't know how to put into words
What Makes A Man –For the time I was asked to answer a question
I often visit a diner to contemplate the questions of life
Staining a nearby window in grey streaks and crests
Spiraling wisps slowly put me into a shadowy trance
Where my most existential thoughts are free to dance
…
What is it that makes a man, I wonder
My anatomy is no different
Of Skin, Blood, and Bone;
My molecules remain bound
Of Soulless Atoms;
My body is nothing more than dust
Of stars long dead.
…
What is it inside a man that makes him more?
The same question I’ve pondered every drink before,
My trance fades slightly, then slowly comes in
As I stare through the window and ponder once again.
…
What is it that makes a man, I think
My Life is made of countless Coincidences
Of years untold;
My Free Will is an illusion
Of past actions recurred;
My thoughts are an enigma
Of coded proofs.
…
I retrain my focus on the cup, a moment of reprieve
A brief stillness before my trance can proceed,
And I imagined a man, torn down to its base
His body worn away, without a trace
I try to think of what would be left behind
What could be left to describe mankind?
…
What is it that makes a man, I reflect
My Mind is a shelter
Of uniqueness so rare;
My Voice is a shadow
Of my Soul’s indentation
My Body is just an echo
Of what I am deep within
…
Again I lack an answer as I drink from my lonely cup
And again I wish my thoughts weren’t so dreadfully stuck
Perhaps I’ll spend eternity searching through my mind
And perhaps I’ll never know how a man is defined,
But I know whatever it is that makes a man true
Is the same thing, inside, that makes me a man too.
The Impromptu Orchestra –For the time the day was too long
Do you ever have a moment, or a feeling
A feeling where you have to stand up and shout and sing
A feeling where you hear your favorite song at the end of a LONG day
And you just have to get up and scream the lyrics.
That feeling is strange because it overwhelms you.
It forces you up and then pushes something into your hand because only now do you need a proper microphone.
And you turn the volume all the way up.
And you open your windows so the whole world can hear.
And you sing the verses out of order.
Because the song doesn’t matter, you’re singing the way you feel.
Because what the hell does the band know? They only wrote it.
The order falls away and the volume dies down and you eventually let go of your makeshift microphone and you go back to having your bad day.
You press next song and reset the shuffle hoping you land on your song again.
Maybe this time you’ll actually sing it instead of yelling at a mirror.
But who are you kidding?
That’s the best part.
Lilacs – For the time the courtyard actually looked nice for once
The lilacs are in bloom.
Their canopies open like hands grasping at the life-giving sun.
Nature hums around them in a square courtyard orchestra,
Singing the song of a sheltered ecosystem,
An isolated cacophony paced to the clock ticks and heartbeats of eager Friday students.
Of nights to be on weekend’s eve who hope the day could be over;
Of summer’s kiss and midnight’s bliss for dancing, howling hoarders.
The courtyard breathes the thoughts of tepid school goers who, if the night ahead will loom,
Can look outside for a single breath would see
The lilacs are in bloom.
Standby – For the time I should’ve let my pride get the best of me
This is the part where I apologize
Where "sorry" starts before the cries
Where I'll internalize, again, what I want to say
Where I relinquish my pride to keep an argument at bay
--
Regret use to run shallow, but rivers deepen into the rock.
--
Where I'll pretend to be wrong to spare your feelings
Where I begin the concealing
To obscure my words and prevent the sorrow
Whatever I can do, if it means seeing you tomorrow
--
Further and further until the truth is blocked
--
They don't even sound like me now
Hollow amends souring my mouth
Syllables are passing through, but they aren't words.
Not anymore.
--
And only when the truth has been fully concealed
--
New locks placed on my mind, further enclosing the latest pairs
The oldest tighten, cracking under their own pressure.
--
Only then will the will the mountains have fully healed
--
This is the part where I apologize
Where I use "sorry" as a vagrant disguise
Recall – For the time my mind became my least favorite escape route
I lied awake late last night, my only company was thought.
I can't remember the last time me myself and I fought.
Myself blamed me for what I began
I countered, "I've done all I can"
We shared a disappointed nod, indulging in a lie
If it meant avoiding another goodbye.
Because I'm killing myself inside
Just trying to decide
--
If I should keep you close
Or sweep away the broken pieces of my heart and mind
--
And I'd cling to our memories, I swear
If I knew from the beginning you weren’t ever even there.
Stranded – For the time I needed the people in my life
A student roaming the halls, head bowed, lonely straight to the core
or
A misunderstood outcast who's out lash would be seen as brash
for
He keeps to himself, stranded in company, alone in the face of
more
Boys and girls who share his space, and dread his face, he’ll just head for the
door
As he stares to the clock, hoping the second hand will strike the
four
Then the bell will start to scream, so then he starts to careen
towards
The lunch area, around his friends, talking to him of their own
accord
He feels loved, where the rest of the day is spent so
ignored
School becomes his waiting game, lunch coming as a
reward
For having the patience to be misunderstood, hide under his hood, he can be
adored
Persevere – For the time She was the only person I would listen to
Pretend you're happy, pretend you're swell.
That the world is bright, that all is well.
The sun shines bright, the moon lies low
That your lamps burn dim, with gentle glows.
The soft night turns, twists, and sways.
And in your head, beautiful dreams are played.
But when you wake, you know what is true.
You know the world simply didn't pay you its due.
That what you've earned has not been fulfilled.
That your dreams are empty still.
And thought the darkness might ensue, you battle it back.
You won't let despair swallow your tracks.
But you've been walking this road for so long, how do you know your goal is near?
...And you whispered softly, "Please. Persevere."
So I did and I tried.
I failed and I lied.
And so I came back, "How can I hold hope, after so many years?"
...And you whispered softly, "Please. Persevere."
And once more I tried.
Even swallowed my pride.
And so I came back, "Please, just tell me. Your words are unclear!"
...And you whispered softly, "Please. Persevere."
And I will, I promise. Again and again.
I'll craft masterpieces with this pen.
Because when I'm beaten, and rejected. Derailed, or neglected. Denied, or disrespected.
I promise to you, my dear. I will, forever, persevere.
Dear Erin – For the time She left me to my devices
Hey there, Erin. It's really been a long time.
And I'm sorry to hear things are less than fine.
And it seems that you were right all along...
About the sorrow of living. About it's tragic song.
So, I'm sorry the good times always seem to have run.
And I'm sorry there was nothing but darkness to come.
I'm sorry I wasn't there when it was most needed
It’s only, you were so strong, I felt unneeded