The Appeal of Mountains

In the ugly. In the foul of former lovers. The sheets keep track. Hours measured in wrinkles. Years carved into pillows. All the drawings we name because we want to know what they'll never tell us. All the journals I've filled with revelations that lie to us. Sad demons chewing on the last of our coma. Little towns in masturbations kept. Open bridges stalled. Like the smiles sewn onto doll faces. Only letting the biggest pass through.

When I can't hear I really can't hear at all. Deaf with the sound of sober as it tosses those coins for me to call. Gambled by the skin I wear. My life maneuvering around me like some abortion gone wrong.

The triumph of saviors still bristling in my thoughts. Ingrown hair growing both in and out of my heart.

I can see the people. Recognize them. And I know the places. Am sure I've been there before.

Like rungs on an old ladder. Each step breaking under my climb. They try, but can't take me anywhere.