When a song is your own trembling voice
and your tears are strings on a violin
played in a darkened room...
When a promise is a dream
and the promise is shelter.
Drinking life’s wonders by the glass
and sleeping like the dead...
When all is left are memories,
memories of illusion
and a concrete block
tied to your feet
with the past
sinking towards the bottom.
Her tiny apartment is dark and foreboding
even on the sunniest of days.....
Dishes snuggle in the sink
like a litter of kittens
and the trash is overflowing.
The smell of death permeates the air
although she is not dead just yet.
The noise from Wilshire plays
a melody through her open windows
and reminds her she is not alone just yet.
"What time is it?" she weakly asks.
"4:30 in the afternoon."
"I should get up."
She rises from the tousled bed like a cripple,
weaving her way through the assorted mess on the floor
and shuffles to the unlit bathroom.
I hear her sickness splashing in the sink
and realize the hunger has not ceased.
"I can't do this right now" she says,
muffled by the solid wooden door.
I tell her I understand........
but I don't.
I wash the dishes, bag up the trash
and leave a twenty on the table as I head for the door.
A tear cuts a path down my cheek
as I descend the stairway
but I haven't given up on her just yet.........
60 seconds and a dirty look
is all you gave me,
a moment in time
and a toothbrush
in the toilet bowl...
Laughter from a
nearby room only
deflates my ego
and the strong winds
from the north chill
my bones now colder
than your heart.
I crawl inside myself
and look for you
but you are well
the lies and deception,
as always a hidden agenda
you fail to disclose.
I'll retrieve my toothbrush
and feverishly brush,
tasting the filth and the
60 seconds of silence........
Sporting lustful eyes like a cheap suit,
adoration and undue respect rain
upon the usual suspects.
Perhaps rubbing elbows
with the rich and famous
will somehow transfer the
same fortune to you much
like a communicable disease....
They will retire to their secluded
and heavily guarded mansions
while you spend the evening
dining on peanut butter sandwiches
in your cramped, low rent dive.
But your eyes have witnessed
the glamour that shoves its
fist down your throat.
The glamour that is drier
than the peanut butter
sandwich you're choking on.........
You called me arrogant,
this coming from a woman
with an ego bigger than
the city of Los Angeles itself,
playing men to pay your rent,
your car payment and all
of those expensive shoes.....
You flaunt your "riches" and
tell everybody that your acting
jobs are paying for all of it.
Last weekend when you
were "on location" in New York,
strangely I witnessed you at your
usual club in Hollywood shaking your ass
to the music with all of the other "actors",
"producers" and "models" who live
the same plastic existence as you.....
If I am indeed arrogant,
it is a result of high self esteem
fueled by moderate success......
your arrogance and confidence
is a lie supported by lonely or
cheating men with money to burn.
You have the masses fooled
but not me because I actually know you.
Your acting skills are perfectly polished
but would serve you better in front of the camera.......
I think I found her...
playing piano at a small Italian cafe
across the street.
She plays with a blank stare
and a halo surrounds her hair.
She plays of the past
and of a distant place,
knowing there is no future for her...
or any of us.
Only when she hits the low notes
does a tear appear in the corner
of her eye.
She just keeps on playing
the soft and gentle tune
to accompany the patrons
as they enjoy their pasta
A stranger places a ten dollar bill
in her jar atop the piano
and requests a tune.
This is one she knows very well.
Her fingers pronounce every note.
And as the vibrant noise
of the restaurant slowly
overtakes the melody,
the tear that had formed
in the corner of her eye
streams down her face
and drips from her chin.......