Transporter

I wish I knew what this was.
I wish to God I did.
For all I know,
These words are not mine.
The pen dips into shadows
Leaving stains illuminated
By a single street light.

This is where he stands,
One man
Writhing in the bile
Of his own thoughts.
Letting the stench sit in his clothing,
Single black backseat self-loathing.
I hope no one will ever find me
But I want them all to know
It's not me.

These tears are made for crocodiles
Backed from my eyes and soaked in my brain
While I switch from first to third,
There's no second,
Only shame.

I'm hiding from my friends
I'm hiding from it all
Headlights and eye sights
Burn everything above my head
And no one knows I'm even gone.
I scream in my own ears
Because I can't stand the silence
Of self.

This is me.
Throwing my books off of the shelves
Each one I wrote
Drags my heels toward hell.
Don't you dare tear your clothing
Because I'm the fool
Who thought you would.
Now I get what I deserve:
Choking on my tightening nerves.

I am a failure to myself.
...is that all I come to acknowledge?
I praised others to praise others,
I feed my spoiled baby with sour milk.
Maybe I'll leave
Once I've made a scene.
This paper has no sympathy,
This pen doesn't know what I mean.

Dare I mention the stars?
Dare I mention the scars?
The moon is in debt to the sun
But runs in foolish circles.
And still,
I'm putting alligator clips on my lips,
Wet with lipstick
Red.
And somehow I was surprised
When my heart felt the shock
And the light hit my eyes.
The inside of this hollow crystal
Is black.
And the bright outside says,
"Let go without a sound.
You've tethered the lifeboats
And they are going to drown
With you.
Do you really think this is fair?"
So I leave an unfitting scene,
Leaving my scent in the air
And yes,
I'm still not there.

I am not deserved.
I am not deserving.
A drunk takes a swig
At attempts to stop swerving.

I said it before on the eastern shore
When two puzzles were mixed
Until no pieces fit:
This is not me.
No matter how hard I tried,
Or how much I cried
No matter how hard I tried,
I'm not understood.
The termites have found pleasure
In your treasure made of wood.
And so I'm dying from the inside
And these stomach pains
Never do subside.
It's reality,
Pinching at my sides...
A slowdance where it leads,
A slowdance with no time.

So here I am, lost.
I don't know what I'm seeking
And for this lapse in time,
I'll explain I was sleeping.
Right now,
I'm on the edge.
Insane at the border.
I am not reason, destination, or order.
I am merely existence.
I am transporter.