(poems from my youth)
Saturated in loneliness, I am dying...
but you give me an excuse to find
An outlet for my remoteness,
To find the emancipation for my seclusion.
I have an excuse to be an addict,
So I can overdose on the killers of pain -
and point the finger at you, Right?
Because you're my excuse.
I can over-pour spirits into my consciousness -
and claimed you were my barless-tender who
continued to fill my cups for me to drink
away my reasons to not mourn.
I can divide into multiple personalities
and have a soul-civil war,
And say you were the foundation
for the fights to begin.
After all, you were my excuse, right?
Be my reason to just nut-up,
Flatten someone's tires
and make appearances
In a psychiatrist's chair.
Be my justification
to turn dysfunctional and bizarre and
Send me on journeys to discover myself,
when I already knew who I was.
You won't be my woman,
You won't be my soul mate,
You won't be the greatest thing that
could happen to my life,
So at least be something,
so be my excuse.
Mark Anthony Thomas
Copyrighted in 2000.