Choosing the Film Instead

Midnight Snack
Originally uploaded by kafkas_undies.

Colored pencil hurt hand
Smudged by time
Gridlocked in squares arranged
to measure five eighths of an inch
Across and I am
smudged
by attempts to refocus, to
Realign.

Maybe this calls for a new clutch
Because the gear shift sits impotent,
doing nothing but making my hand hurt.
And my head and its fingers.
Maybe user error has a hand in this.
Or a foot.
Maybe I'm going at it the long way
adding new color to each page,
New smudges to my face, my fingers.
A feeble attempt to disguise the simple
truth of the matter
knowing full well
A dead man would do better
digging himself out of the grave.

Hand still sore
Despite sharpening into a wastebasket
Black and empty,
Despite washing my hands.
It's just not working
and now I am as close to tears as
I can get through this coat
of quick fixes and
prescription pad living and
being this close is a bigger let down
than missing the jackpot by one.

I am told certain things are a waste of my time
Worthless expenditures on a cerebral plane
flying nonstop first class
Destination irrelevant.
But despite the plush accommodations
I am left unfulfilled
Left wanting something I will never have
Because I lack the words and the means
And time, like a bratty bitch child,
insists on traveling down a one way street.