St. Clair Mare

Walking on the concrete slabs that snap at my feet like a giant crab

I saunter past 1 shop 2 shops 3 shops no; I never stop it's always go, go, go

I keep my head still, keep my eyes glued to the sky that once spilled - red, blue - I fear for the day when the heavens will look like a purple and yellow and grey stew

The new condos pop up in the spring and lay dormant in the fall

Who knows how long I'll live here; always waiting for a call

that never comes, partially 'cause I keep my phone on airplane mode; afraid of radiation, afraid of pollution, afraid of interpersonal communication

It's just another weeknight, followed by just another workday

Then the stench of cheap cologne hits me and I realize it has to be a Friday

I know that if I stop to inhale the St. Clair stench I might be led astray

Which might look like walking into McDcs and saying "hey, can I get a 10 piece chicken McNug meal with a large fries? No drink please. And hey, no worries, I promise this won't be the start of my demise"

All the while trying not to think of the chickens, the bees, the human beings being turned into capitalistic commodities

The slaves to the torment of a bygone world; is it just me or is this dystopian fantasy masquerading as a just society?

I keep walking; I curl my lips up into a flaky half smile

The kind of smile where you try and project happiness and hopefulness

and all you get back are looks of strangeness and fearful eyes

But it's not all bad; in fact it's probably a blessing in disguise

I need to know - am I a fool or thou art a saviour?

I ask Lyra "hey, can you do me a favour?

Can you keep me safe from the monster and my reckless behaviour?"

It's not that I don't trust myself; it's just that trust is hard to come by

When all you care about is the next high and not the next goodbye

When I think of her, the voice I hear is subtle

And when I hear her voice, I don't feel like living a life that's tranquil

It was hard getting cut off from my angel; so thank you Seroquel

Thank you for not lobotomizing me

Thank you for not keeping me strapped down to the beds that smell overcleanly

Thank you for keeping me numb and angry; dull and dreamy; fat and teary

Thank you for supposedly giving me a shot at normality

Now is the time to find some distance from the trauma

Now is not the time to go home crying to my momma

Now is the time to reclaim what was lost in the all the drama

So now is probably not the time to walk on St. Clair in my pajamas

Dedicated to Chester Bennington.

©GGH 2017