Here I Lie
Atop a throne of warm, enthralling heat,
alone but for my thoughts, we congregate.
They threaten me, a pessimistic cloud,
a static silence piercing every veil
I choose to cloak myself within.
Her face floats by in nebulous regret
and hazy voices echo what I knew
before. Again: “You could have done it right,”
or, if not perfectly, just not this bad.
“You should have done it better.” Louder now.
“Your best will never be enough.” But then
The silence: far too loud to think,
too lonely for another drink or three,
returns in force. Instinct demands I leave
this dreadful place; I can’t. My thoughts, they said –
I know – I brought this on myself. And if
I’d failed less, then maybe I would feel
In celluloid I find my sweet
escape. The bottle’s bottom bears the best
of any message I have ever heard.
In flickered light and sleepless nights, I feel
better. I cinematically transform
from me to Natalie to see what V
can change in me; I’m better than what I
could be if I had done it perfectly.
Now, Vi Mendaci Veniversum Vivus
Vici; here, I reign, atop a throne
of cold, enticing lies, alone but for
the film, the vodka, and the slightest sense
of hope; it lingers near reality.
And here, I reign, a drunken, perfect king,
unbothered by the worries of the past,
unfettered by the nagging, scheming thoughts,
unshackled from the tyranny of truth,
unburdened of what held me down before,
but unconvinced that anything will change.