Your Coward Side by Megan C Lucas


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The dark lays heavy on my pillow on nights when we get drunk enough to speak about the things that keep us up at night when we are sober

So on nights when I am drunk I lie awake like nights when I am sober and choke on all the things you said and instead of regret, will claim to forget

Morning comes with a vengeance and a headache that numbs the heart and a heartache that pains the soul enough to keep the mouth at bay
So many things were said yet so much was left unsaid and we are right back to being in the dark
and it’s heavy on my pillow

Another drunken night at confession leads us to a hanging morning sick with anticipation that you might remember like I always do
You remember nothing and it convinces me that you are nothing but a hopeless drunk and truth-less sober and painful heart times over

Only cowards profess their inner thoughts drunk and afraid to face their consequence
You were a coward to make me fall for you with no intention to follow through
So I’m a coward for my memory must also fail me on mornings when I remember
To protect my frail dignity and your weak pride to remain a well-kept secret by your coward side

Addicted to Death


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(Melissa’s Story)

My father was an alcoholic and he died 15 years sober so don’t tell me that death at the hand of an addiction is inevitable. Don’t stand there and preach to the world that drugs and alcohol and depression are the gateways to death, breathing is the gateway to death. Some of us just happen to be in so much pain that anything that will numb our existence is something we need. Don’t stand there and judge me like you’ve never found yourself crying in the middle of a cold shower for something that felt at the time like it would never go away, like you would never be okay. We have all played with the idea of death because as much as time heals all wounds, the pain is all too consuming to grasp the concept of breathing let alone of time. You keep throwing cliche’s at me like you know what I’m experiencing. “Come on child, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I’m not sorry to disappoint you, what didn’t kill me in the past has failed to make me strong. I am fragile and weak from this system that sounds so perfect in theory but in practice has failed every single one of us. As easy as you think it is to forgive transgressions and to forget painful pasts, it eats at you daily because ‘what if’s’ are far greater and more powerful than ‘what have been’s’. Just because my problem seems small from where you’re standing does not mean it doesn’t have the ability to consume me, to drown me, to swallow me whole and you have no right to tell me how to fix it. Sit down. If you’re that interested in my issues and my selfish desires to eliminate them with a quick and cowardice solution then let’s talk because no amount of you standing over there and yelling at me to get off of the ledge, to put the blade down, to step off of the chair, is going to turn my addiction to depression into vapour. When someone is annoyed, everything is annoying. The same goes for sadness.

My name is irrelevant and I am addicted to sadness.


Late Night Ramble #657


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It is almost midnight and I must confess this immediately. I must speak quickly so as to bare it all and leave nothing unsaid. I must tell someone and who better than a late night drifter. An insomniac. A night shift worker. An over thinker. A single mother. A married mother. A guilty heart breaker. A lonely heart breakee. Point is, thoughts are clearest closest to dawn and also judgment free.

Listen. Please. I have stumbled upon something magnificent. The culmination of 22 months and several days of brooding over imaginings and maybe he does like me or maybe he’s just nice or maybe he’s keeping his options open or maybe I’m his only one. Maybe he’s just as afraid as I am. Afraid of something bigger than rejection. More frightening. Acceptance? We aren’t equipped for fairytale lives. We cannot handle meet-cutes. The script we were given is plain and simple and says things like “love is hard” and “certain things only happen in the movies, sweetheart” so move along. It rambles rubbish like “He’s not waiting in a bookstore in the Classics aisle for you to walk over in search of something Cummings. He’s not sitting on a park bench looking for a passerby who instead of passing by, stays. He won’t stare at you from across the room until you both make your way over to one another and drown awkwardly.”

Oh, but what if he is? We’re so brain-soaked into believing we may never be truly happy that we settle for what is only satisfying. I want to be fuller than full. I want my heart to race. My palms to sweat. I want to live every cliche’ ever written or thought. I want to dance in the rain to no music and have him promise me the moon. I want the Notebook and Nottinghill. I want Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

So this, indirectly and very subliminally, is a letter to him. In hope that he might be a sleep-walker or like me, a late night stalker.

My dearest boy. Your fear is not unnoticed. I see it now and I welcome it. I, too am afraid of loves embrace. But is it not true there exists nothing stronger than fear?

(Megan Celeste Lucas 2014)

A Brief Second by Megan Celeste Lucas


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I woke up one day, lost and afraid and desperate. He had left me desolate. There was no turning from this pain only ripping of dry blood again and again with every thought of his touch in every memory that clutched so longingly to songs and poems and clouds and it’s hard to make tea just for me now. You see, he started as a thought, an idea, a wish shouted out into the vastness. an answered prayer. And time stopped every time he was near and now it’s as if all of those missed minutes and hours and days came speeding up and smashed right into my face the sadness I neglected and the joy I overspent and the tears I selfishly held on to because I was too busy playing around with the different ways in which I could turn my smile right side down. I am a wreckage of mass proportions. And that’s okay. I need not explain when they complain that he’s not worth it. My tears, my anger, my solitude. He was worth every piece of me then, nothing has changed. I will give him my wrath as freely as I did my body, with trust that he will know what to do with it. I will hand him my tears in cups made from hands he promised would always be my harness. He can take my pride and my dignity and I will show him that being the lady-part of human does not always mean composure nor does it mean grace or turning away my face from his nonchalant cavalier attack on my heart. I loved him with every fragile bit of my being and the evidence was seen in the shattered porcelain on the floor and the key tracks in the door and the briefest second in which I calculated the trunk size of my car or the stamina with which I could carry his heavy heart over my shoulder with its leg attached to a boulder. I will take this brief second to break, for the longer I wait the smaller the frame will become leaving me with no words to shout, no dishes to break, only wishes I had taken this courage of mine to speak my mind and bare my insides. They were full of you but I am rid of you and wish everything of the best with you.

I woke up one day, found and okay.


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