A Poem for the Stage

I don't like most poetry delivered with a live voice that dies on the page. I wrote this poem a long time ago in loving admiration of the poets who can both write and speak. That's not me, but this is where the night takes me.

STOP

I try to write and

stop

my words are like a grain of salt
thrown into an ocean

my brackish tears do nothing
but wrinkle my paper
smudge my glasses
and drain me of fluids

as I write and

stop

with a staccato rhythm
flowing in my head
telling me it's all ok
if i just

stop

and listen with the rest
to unending teenage love songs
that never spoke to me
while i struggled
and purged
and bruised
in pursuit of a spine
to

stop

the pain that I feel
i made for myself
i made for everyone
around me
and in my head, I

stop

to wonder about writing
as I grab the blade firmly
not too hard, not too soft
just enough to cut
just enough to

stop

fooling around and listen
to the voices in my head
instead of those sincerely
looking at me writhe
in the dance of a drunkard
with nothing in my belly
but a pill
and a pill
and a pill

It just makes me want to

stop

smell the roses
feel the sun (cloud) on my face
and feel the tears (dye) in my eyes
as I sit waiting (watching) on a train
to nowhere but suddenly

stop