Claustrophobia

What do you do at two o'clock in the morning
when everyone
in your house is asleep,
when all your friends are with your other friends
in bars
patting each other's backs
for their fast cars and silver spoons?
Whom do you call when everyone you know
has gone to their beds
happy
they have someone beside them
to kiss
and have breakfast with in the morning?
Whom do you talk to when you think
you are ready
to fall
into a mere
sub-existence
barely able to feel yourself
or hear yourself speak
or see
your reflection in the bathroom mirror?
How do you wake up from a bad dream
without
losing your sanity from realizing
that a bad dream is more sufferable than
a wretched life? How do you regain hope
stolen from the womb that bore it
or confidence
bought out by malicious capitalists
that hog fame and favor and leave
you
with canard?
How do you live to see yourself
perverted
corrupted
reduced to a
demeaned level of polishing shoes of honchos
day
after day
after day
dismissed at whim like
cheap perfume?
How do you keep yourself from
consummating
that suicide note long written in your head
when you find there is
nothing
to hold you and keep you from it?
How do you deal with conscience?
How do you keep your mother from prattling
about how your job sucks and
your appearance
never right?
How do you endure
the ceaseless playing
of that effusive
record by your deplorable neighbors
when your ears
bleed
from the steady
drumming of polka? Why can I not scream
from frustration
without passersby looking
with eyes bulging and brows twitching?
When can I take that vacation? Where do I
go
for solace?
Why does it hurt to dream?
Why does it cost to love?
When does
this migraine leave? When will sleep come
when it is the only
source of happiness
and rest
left?
When does life become?
And when
will death be gone?
How do you begin to exist beyond
imperfection?
When do I transcend finally the evil that
surrounds me
so I can live in peace
free
from judgement and prejudice
let alone
for being me and not somebody
else?
When will I be let loose
emancipated
from the superstructures upon which
this whole goddamned world is built
under which cowardly peoples
and men of half-wit
hide
so I can live
to relish my days – and my nights –
without having to feel rejected
dejected
alone?

- written some time in 2000