Headaches

If only the voices in my head would stop screaming
And the voices that surround me would stop shouting
And the voices that haunt me would stop talking
Maybe I could finally fall asleep.

If only your voice would stop playing
In my ears like a song I can't forget
And stop reminding me of everything we cannot be
Maybe I could finally move on.

If only the voices of my yesterdays
Would stop ringing in my ears tomorrow
If only I could silence them, if only they'd shut up
Maybe I'd look forward to the future.

If the chorus of voices on the internet
And radio, TV, and on the street
Would only stop forcing their opinions upon me
Maybe I would know what to think.

If that little voice inside me would wisen
If that little voice would shrink its own self-doubt
If that little voice didn't have enormous insecurities
Maybe I'd believe in me and you.

If only the voices in my head would stop screaming
And the voices that surround me would stop shouting
And the voices that haunt me would stop talking
Maybe I could find my one true voice.

Me and the Birds

As I stand on the waterfront
Taking in the river breezes
Which cool and calm and cleanse me of my ailments
I watch the geese and the ducks in their natural habitat
In this slice of nature in an unnatural city.

As I stroll lazily across the grass and by the trees
I hear the song of the red-winged blackbirds
And as I watch them take flight
I stare in awe at their plumage
So moody, yet so gorgeous.

As I walk amongst the ducks and the geese
All of us lingering peacefully on this slab of land
Pressing "pause" on all our pressures, our varied hassles, and ugly instincts
Just long enough to enjoy these few minutes.

And as the red-winged blackbirds trill their tune and fly to freedom
So must I fly away from this patch of green in an urban wonderland
So must I return to where I came from
So must the birds and I bid farewell
Until again, I find myself among them.

Emotional Demons

Some people get high on cocaine
Some people get high on heroin
Some people get high on ecstasy
But I get high on arrogance.

Some people abuse OxyContin
Some people abuse Percocet
Some people abuse Vicodin
But I abuse the ones I love.

For some folks, sex reigns supreme
Others can't stop touching themselves
Others keep their eyes glued to pornography
But I can't stop turning people off.

Maybe you drink too much whisky
Or a few too many beers
Or way too much vodka, gin, or tequila
But I enjoy my hate in moderation.

Some people just love their nicotine
They smoke themselves to death
The only thing I love to set on fire
Is my overheated rhetoric.

Some people eat until they're full
Then stuff their bodies even further
But I love to stuff my ego until it explodes
And makes a mess all over you.

For you may be addicted to drugs or booze
Or sex or food or smokes
But I am addicted to driving away
The people I need the most.

Something To Look Forward To

When I was still young in body and at heart
I loved to hit the city with a palette and a brush
In search of someone to paint the town with
I suppose that was something to look forward to

The sensation of a woman's body close to mine
And the thrill of any mutual attraction
The connection, even fleeting, of two hearts, two minds, two souls
I suppose that was something to look forward to.

When I was still a hopefully hopeless -- or hopelessly hopeful -- romantic
I used to keep my eyes and ears and mind open
Just in case the next lady I met could become my next lady
I suppose that was something to look forward to

Getting to know each other -- how mundane
Caring about each other -- how commonplace
Learning to love each other -- how cliche
I suppose that was something to look forward to.

When I still had the will to put my essence on the line
I put as much on the line as I could spare
And one by one, the ladies took it, used it up, and left me nothing
Was that ever something to look forward to?

And one by one, I lost my drive, my love, and my determination
But did I really?
Did they really take my essence?
What was really something to look forward to?

Now that I'm older and wiser -- well, at least older and changed
I've stopped carrying my palette and my brush
And they say you and I are "just friends" and nothing more
And they say that isn't something to look forward to

But when we see each other next, we'll share, we'll learn, we'll grow, we'll plan
To do it all again sometime, and again on repeat
Knowing that it means much more than fleeting fun or short-lived romance
I suppose that's something to look forward to.

The Sickness

It's that tense and queasy feeling
My heart begins to pound
And my face begins to tighten
As my fists begin to clench
But I'm not looking for a face to punch
Or a wall to put a hole in
It's just the sickness that I feel
When I feel anything for you.

It's the loss of any appetite for anything but anger
The loss of any taste for anything not bitter
The ever-growing craving for a stew of lamentations
Starvation for attention from another false friend
It's the sickness that I feel when I think about you
When I think about the ways you spent my time
When I think about the waste of time you proved yourself to be
Again, I feel the sickness.

It's the paranoia when I make a new acquaintance
For a new acquaintance cannot possibly become an ally
The depression when I realize how long I let you fool me
The anxiety when I wonder who else is fooling me
The unwillingness of this fool to face a world of foolers
It's the sickness that I feel when I see or hear your name
It's the sickness that I feel when I remember our good times
For I see now that our good times were never quite so good
Neither is the way you make me feel today.

It's the restlessness, the yearning to see welcoming faces
It's the emptiness inside which I cannot fill alone
It's the weariness of wariness
The loneliness
The readiness
The readiness to feed my needs
The readiness to need again
The readiness for openness with just a hint of cautiousness
It's a whole new kind of sickness
For you've made me sick and make me sick
It's the sickness
For I'm sick
Of being sick.