the end.

And in the end I write for the beginning And I write and I wrote And I've written Through this too And my mess began In the bathroom I'd stand all stiff and up on my toes And tonight and last night and what's under my Fingernails Filthy The blood in my nose wants out And it shows Up in my clothes and filling the gaps missed By tiles or grout wear away most of what happened today By wringing My hands out And sanding down the fiber of me A silent and urgent and mystical ritual I cannot fathom then as I feel every time And my hurt and the wash and what's left In the sink and the sill And I watch not all seeing and feeling My raw I can find till I stop making sense again. Tonight I'm a blanket I live somewhere else Where luck is a crisis and corn is all gone. And I pinch the ends together As I tend to do And my nostrils caked shut now I think they gave up, too And instead of respite I toss I've lost what I won in the raw Of the caring and sobbing and likening to real And making a last ditch attempt At making it work And not making light of how I was spared In the light of the day and still shivering and Not interested in the where And the raw in the sink Bred in me the unaware Waltzing, a drunk, in and then out of the bathroom and Care And bliss or something close Comes taunting me haunting me From all that I thought had been made Into dust and bone spurs in my joints and my face When I left and I crept up to bolt out Just before flames swallowed whole My life and the boy who left for the rest of his sense or else pride my life and now this all the nonsense it contained No phoenix did rise from that amateur fake-arsonist who might have set off that first working blaze… Just bliss in the mist of my self-imposed haze Come to rest here no doubt about that. This is no place for girls like princess bliss to hang out and snort lines. and I am tempted to swat at it like I do to the mice But I'm too tired and smoke-filled to find the broom and grimy like dice tossed too much all shaken and man-handled by too many to count tonight. so i don't bother looking for cleaning supplies, it's sunrise and almost near noon for most people just passing me by... but. I'm all bloody and crusty and instead I blink it and will it to be gone and unreal and unnoticed but still it's just me who is criticizing me All alone with the bathroom. The shaking inside me sometimes tricks me into Thinking I must be closer than ever to sudden death and an end a welcome ceasefire with tweezers or fingers with tiny white flags tied upon them all waving in defeat all curled up with weary and soaked to the bone with the tired. But as luck or something close would have it There seems to be no end in sight to the naked raw types of sadness these nights spent over my sink and i too am sinking my own ship for lack of a real foe in the foreseeable future or perilous past it's me at the helm and she's going down fast and still her mast pushes on for no real reason at all and with no pause button to stall for time or to think or regroup or redo the unthinkable mess i've just made all over my sink. This radio evil all exploding my mind With a soundtrack from all that I've lived and what no longer makes sense Singing sounds rough like matches on my face And screaming like wires undercover with birds who retire on them from time to time and all the while migrating and tailgating as they do each year. And all this matters none and peace is not for people like me, who need mirrors and tweezers and criminals raw To stop the madness from its dance And for me to use some soap and get the buzzing to stop burning in my underpants now. And to start giving a fuck or two perhaps? About my ending, or this writing and what good I could ever do with a ghost of bliss and too many itches all over to just pick a single one and sit down and scratch. and in the end, she wrote for the beginning , Breaking teeth and gummy eyes she had to get down in some tangible form What words make up lines which then we call lyrics To the song in her head and the way it gets louder and urgent and vital And whispers at night and begs of her earplugs to listen just hear all that you're missing and All that you've left and can't know yet But might still be salvaged who knows what old Gabriel Could manage with the wreckage and remnants of a storm Whose predictable touch-down took her from Brooklyn to lunar landings and back into Limbo Where now she is waiting it out until Judgment Day finds her and She'll be pulling her scar off her face all tweezers and disaster. she was shot through with beauty and raw and alabaster plain pure in the feelings proved too potent and palpable for her palette all delicate and open.