Dissecting dysfunction

I want to see the stars as clearly as they're meant to be seen, which is also how I'd like to see my life.

 I want my vision sharpened  so much that I see through false intentions. 

I want a clear path ahead of me, obsidian sky above me. 

Yet character is created from chaos, not constant clarity, which is simultaneously unfortunate and miraculous.

 Chaos is cloudy and difficult to navigate. 

Mental chaos is driving in heavy fog when you can't see anything in front of you. 

It's all you, your thoughts, some panic, fear. 

Unknown things lie in wait before you,

but you can't quite grasp what the fuck you're supposed to be prepared for.

You're stuck in your car, or in your mind. Perhaps both, which is usually me. 

Yet I'm a professional navigator now, and I hide so much from so many. 

My thoughts are that delicate gold chain in the bottom of some makeshift contraption I'm using as a jewelry box.

 They're tangled beyond repair. 

Maybe they'll be unraveled and figured out one day, but that might take more time than it's worth.

 How did these twists and turns work themselves into such a complex state of affairs in the first place? 

So they're left alone at the bottom of the jewelry box. 

Or mind; I neglect those kinks within.  

They take up residence with the rest of the contents of my psyche. 

Mundane memories are cheap rings from gumball machines. 

Cruel comments spoken by someone  who said they loved me years ago (and i believed them) are the jewelry my grandmother gave me the last time I ever saw her. 

Hurts the same?  Lies dormant the same?

 Is this to be figured out? Untangled?Dwelled upon? Or left as is? It's just hanging out there.

Does it retain it's value, it's worth?

 

Should such dysfunction be dissected in an attempt to reap any reward? 

Some days it makes more sense than others. 

Most days it's best to leave it alone. 

All that I remember.

It shakes me up like a snow globe to remember us 

as we were the day we met,

us

you and me

hard to believe

that we were ever that young.

You used to smoke all my cigarettes when I still smoked

I always paid for everything 

and lied about it to everyone,

embarrassed that you used me

acting like I didn't realize 

because I loved you so much.

You never loved me until it was too late by that time I had grown up enough to know it couldn't  work,                  

 I always knew

that awful truth

beneath my consistent disappointment.

My constant letdown

was poetic

as all things are in retrospect.

Some can't believe I would ever make amends

but we both know I was awful too.

There are things that happened

between us

Remembering them 

only for us.

And I am still sorry

And I still think about you

On the way home from work when the sun is in my eyes

and when I've had too much to drink.

You look happy.

The dwindling continues...

When crunchy leaves are lying on the ground, pretty but dead, and wondering what happened to their old grand view to which they had become accustomed, I like to shuffle through them. I don't bother to pick up my feet because I like the swishing soundtrack it plays for me while on the way to my destination. That noise indicates that fall is past it's prime. Those leaves have served their purpose, no longer green buds with a future of sunny days and thunderstorms ahead of them. They're now the indicators and mascots of the cycle of life and darkness. Literally and figuratively. Fall is no longer the crisp and refreshing new kid, giving way to a long awaited break from sticky days. It's on it's way out of the house to make room for winter. Winter has been away but is now home and needs a place to stay. it's first night on the town is a wild one. 

Sips of whiskey warm the throat on the way down. 

Smiles become looser, more flirtatious. That brown liquor makes the heat migrate all over, outwards, all directions really. 

Lips open easier. 

Whiskey wanting to overstay it's welcome, but makes friends with the music. 

Glances, caresses. Let's dance. 

Or stumble. Laugh until we fall down. Stand in front of me, your body warms me more, 

entertaining thoughts that I know better than to talk myself into. 

We're entertaining a crowd, but wait, no one is watching. 

Only my mind's eye, taking snapshots of the night, and leaves, and smoke, and liquor

Mental pictures to serve as souvenirs, 

no regrets about them. 

Of your soft yielding body against mine.

I'll drink to that~

Welcome Winter.