Matthew P. Haubert
From the book songs and poems of a failed life
Two nights, 36 hours, countless drives,
to find the light to spark our eyes
Insufflated to the brainstem,
until the blood leaks,
a mixture of chemical and organic compound
now enters and exits me
Can’t remember the moments minutes before,
everything’s so fast,
can’t seem to just get a grasp and enjoy
The dashboard clock keeps blinking red,
like it knows we’re cheating time
Headlights smear into comets,
every street feels like a promise we won’t keep
Sleep is a rumor we laugh about,
tongues buzzing, jaws grinding prayers
We keep saying one more mile,
like distance might save us
Chorus
But I feel so alive
Not dead inside
Like Lou Reed sang
A Perfect Day
Not worried about the body decay
or the deafening of the brain,
just slowly climbing the hill up
till we peak masterfully at will
in a psychogenic bliss
Two nights, 36 hours,
sounds of rumblings of happiness in my brain
Methamphetamine and benzos
are so fucking insane
We talk in absolutes and half-truths,
confessing futures we won’t remember
Hands shaking, pupils blown wide,
love feels achievable at this velocity
Every idea is genius,
every song sounds written for us
We swear this is clarity,
even as the edges start to burn
The third morning comes quietly,
light leaking through blinds like an accusation
Our bodies feel rented,
our thoughts overdue
There’s a hollow where the rush lived,
echoing with static and regret
We lie still, afraid to move,
as if motion might break the spell completely
I chase that first spark again in my head,
rewinding the night, frame by frame
Trying to remember
when alive started meaning almost gone
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