I am dead

NaPoWriMo Day Eight

I am dead.

Every breath I take is like

taking a drag on a seething inferno

laced with cyanide. 

I hack and sputter

as I transmit my lunch orders

to distressed-looking waiters

at my favorite café. 

I am dead. 

My sleep is perturbed 

by painful memories and 

bothersome distractions like 

pop-up ads in the corner 

of my mind's eye, floaters

thick as steel cable

bounding from edge to edge

in an unhinged parkour routine. 

I am dead. 

Every day is exactly the same. 

I drive past the same 

mini-malls on the same

highways through the same

overcrowded stretches

of colorfully blinding vacancy. 

I am dead.

I can think of no other explanation, 

no reasonable cause

for my lifeless wanderings, 

ambling like a restless shade

at the unopening gates of Hades. 

I am dead. 

It is my most closely-guarded

secret - I am afraid to tell even

my friends, for fear that they already

know, or perhaps even worse, 

that they are all dead, too. 

Lunarcy

NaPoWriMo Day Six. This one is ridiculous. 

I used to do most of my 

best thinking lying on my back

in the shallowest part of the ocean. 

No, not the one you're thinking of, 

near the old landing where

that guy's boat pulled his truck

right along with it into the waves - 

It's the other one, you'd know it

if you saw it, but I'm having trouble 

thinking of a suitable landmark. 

Anyway, I pondered some of life's 

most minor worries in that spot, 

decided what to wear to my

ex-girlfriend's wedding while

halfway covered in sea water. 

Her dad invited me, always liked me. 

Didn't want to disappoint the guy. 

So anyway there I was again, 

but this time it wasn't working. 

For the longest time I could tell

something was different but

couldn't pinpoint it exactly, 

and then it finally synced up - 

every time I breathed in and out, 

the water was moving up and down! 

Who could think straight trying to

relax on a watery roller coaster? 

I was frantic for answers. I looked up 

and saw the moon doing woosahs. 

I raised my arms, incredulous, 

like when someone cuts you off in traffic, 

but you know they can't see you.

It's barely noon, I screamed, you're early!

The moon turned with an exasperated

stare, fixed it's craters on me and asked, 

How else do you want me to make it

through the day? Do you want a tsunami? 

Because this is how you get a tsunami. 

Morning bell

NaPoWriMo Day Five

What is life

if not for living? 

It is certainly not

best spent sleeping, 

and yet - 

my most fervent curses, 

my most hate-laden

"fuck," 

I reserve

for the always-too-early, 

cringingly gentle

(like it's trying too hard), 

inescapable calling-upon

that it is time

to wake up. 

Frost bound

NaPoWriMo Day Four

The last door left open

slams shut in a chilling breeze. 

Thermometer's not broken, 

but it has given up a few degrees. 

Nature's alarm bells have rung

to signal oncoming decay. 

No more the plantings are sprung -

they're gone, dormant, out of the way. 

The first crisp on the grass, 

just a dash of a much stronger brew - 

not soon will adversity pass,

just hold on - a warm fire must do.