Honeycombs and Caffeine

I'm an early morning Cereal killer
I find honeycombs to be the best stomach filler
a cup of coffee, is my sobering healer
and the Mercury funnies are a line for line thriller

The city streets are humming a low Sunday tune
and the Bay Area fog rolls in, even though it's June
I'm just waking up and it's well past noon
slowly joining in on the sultry city croon

Side corner coffee shop is calling my name
getting through traffic is a dangerous frogger game
I come here every day and my order's always the same
"Large quad shot eye opener," the others are too tame

Emo kid behind the counter, too depressed to give a smile
discontented youth, he says joy is overrated and vile
I have nothing to say to him proving life's worthwhile
so I compliment is hairdo and his dark eyeliner style

he says,"It's unfriendly here where people are so busy.
The taller the buildings the more lonely the city
but in the solitude, sadness can become pretty.
I'd rather step back and observe life intently."

I nod keeping my sunny disposition at bay
as I sip my hot cup of caffeine and scurry on my way
onto sunnier people, with much less to say
besides, my belly's way too full and it's been a good day.

Asking For It

I was heartbroken and almost accidentally drove off a cliff. I had a good friend sitting shotgun and scared as hell. Thelma and Louise ain't got nothing on me. The band Hole was spinning in the CD player, but was coming in low like a whisper in the back seat of my car. Turned down by my companion, Melissa, who urged me to concentrate.

Let me back up a bit. It was the beginning of summer and the day after being dropped by my first love. I was better off; he was an asshole who couldn't keep his eyes from wandering and his hands from traveling. The only problem was, I couldn't get my heart to follow my minds lead. I didn't feel better off. And my friend sitting shot gun, Mel? She had just nailed half of the guys in our circle of friends, trying to screw her memory-slate clean of the love she left back home, many states away. Apparently it wasn't working.

"I feel fine for a while and then all of a sudden, I get anxious and depressed for a full hour. One whole hour of feeling completely jacked up." Mel confesses.

"The hour of Jacked!" I repeated, feeling the twinges of anxiety myself.

"Let's just go for a drive and see where it takes us?" And that's how it began. One suggestion, followed by a winding road up through the back hills of San Juan Bautista, with angry chick music blaring from the car stereo. Two wayward travelers, trying to out-drive our thoughts.

Depression makes you adventurous and somewhat careless with your life. Not purposefully, the risks are just another means to distract yourself from your mind. So, when the opportunity to veer off the main road onto a graveled side road appeared, we took it. It was seemingly the road to a better view of the city lights.

We got halfway up the dirt road when I realized that the road was but merely a path and it narrowed the farther up we went. With the incline, at some point I couldn't see the road at all, just the front hood of my car. That's when the music got turned down. This was serious. I couldn't go forward anymore, because I couldn't even see if there was a forward, and the dust cloud I caused behind us made backing up a bit difficult.

"Ummm... I think I'm going to back-up. At least I'm positive that there's road there." I said, in a wavering, unsure tone.

"Take your time. I'll be here. . . pissing my pants."

Backing up when you can't see what your backing up on is tricky and straight is subjective, when you're on a winding dirt trail. When my back tire lost contact with the ground, I stopped short.

"Ok, new plan! I'm going forward..."

"Uh-huh." Mel's voice was seemingly calm, but her presence was panicked. She gripped onto the 'oh shit,' handle above the passenger side door and sat stiffly as the car began to roll forward.

At the top of the hill we both leaned forward and stretched our upper bodies in hopes of being able to see past the hood. There was a universe of dust surrounding my car now and the front headlights were superfluous. I hit the gas and my car thrust forward, back tires kicking up gravel, both of us clenching and cursing under breath. The car tipped and began rolling, then sliding downhill. With the headlights, highlighting the blanket of darkness in front of us and the speed at which my car jolted forward, it was hard to tell if we were still on a path or just going off the cliff side. I slammed on the brakes, gripped the steering wheel tight and my butt puckered, anticipating the worse. All of a sudden, the dust cleared and we were sitting on a rounded clearing of dirt, just off the main road. The car had made it to the other side.

We both exhaled deeply and when I turned to look at her, she had two cigarettes in her mouth and was rummaging around her purse for a lighter.

"Cut the engine for a minute." She suggested, in a mumble, cigarettes bobbing between her lips as she spoke. I turned the engine off, but left a bit of power running, so the low tunes could still be heard. She turned to me with a lit cigarette and I took it, I needed it.

We rolled the windows down and turned up the stereo to hear "Asking for it," coming in clear. Courtney Love was off-key and singing, " . . . if you live through this with me, I swear that I will die for you and if you live through this with me, I swear that I will die for you . . . "

"Ready to go -" I said, cutting Courtney off. The song following the situation made everything seem too surreal.

"More than ready." Mel was in agreement. "Somehow, I don't feel so jacked anymore."

"I would assume that near-death can do that to you." I mused.

"So, what do you want to do tomorrow?"

Get It Together, Girl

If you want to know what life was like without you,
it felt very drunk.

I spent a lot of mornings apologizing for the night before.
I'm still sorry for the mess I made on that car, in that house,
and the one I made of my life.

Life felt like an empty room in a very big house
like a churning stomach and a sleepless night,
like someone feeling very uncomfortable in her own skin.
The pain was cutting and the scars are deep.
Deep in my heart, in my memory, on my flesh.
I could still see the scars but when the pain was starting to fade,
it was a false recovery that I didn't realize, until now.

This all was due largely to the destructive distraction,
the boy I thought I was trying to save, but didn't need or want my saving.
How can I clean up someone elses mess,
when my very own mess was causing my head to spin.
Together we made one fantastic mess,
two people united by one subconscious downward spiral.

We were reckless . . .
no, wait, he was reckless and I went along for the ride.

He was a car crash into a train wreck
and I walked into his self-destructive behavior, like a bird aimlessly gliding into glass.

All I saw was clear skies -never the impending impact.

Tell me stories,
make promises out of lies,
feed me pills and fill me with false hope,
I was begging for it.

Please, save me from myself.

Sugary sweet hours of blissful zoning,
gave way for me to escape this world, myself,
my wreckless companion
and you.
Enough to make me think I was getting over you,
not just distracting myself from the hurt.

If you want to know what life was like without you,
it felt cheep and abusive.
It felt like I was looking for anyone to hurt me,
because I was tired of hurting myself.

It felt like bottom-shelf whiskey,
a dive-bar jukebox,
stripper dust and filth.
That dive of a place,
was starting to feel like home,
and the hazy drunkenness . . . comfortable,
as comfortable as a Pink Floyd song.
I wasn't thinking about you any more.
I didn't need you anymore, in that place.

If you want to know what life was like without you,
it felt like abandonment.
it felt like my distraction found solace
in the arms of someone with a warm bed and kind eyes.
It felt like alone would feel,
when your friends are tired of your drunken behavior.
It felt like a girl who wasn't even good enough
for a boy who's life is like a car crash into a train wreck.

Life felt like an empty room in a very big house
like a churning stomach and a sleepless night,
like someone feeling very uncomfortable in her own skin.
like a dive bar stool and 2am promises,
like tears in the bottom of a shot glass, crying "get it together girl."
get it together.
Get it together, girl.

If you want to know what life is like without you,
it feels like a cut of the flesh finally healing
and a sober morning.
It feels like a garage sale,
like the purging of all of your things.
It feels like an out of state move and a new apartment.
It feels like a new job and a fresh start.
Like a mess of a girl finally getting it together.