Numb. (a poem) - Writers Forum

OddGodHMK · 05-11-2008, 12:11 PM

Numb.

My trouser pockets
Were jingling when I got here
With all the loose change
I could find on the dash
And spilt all over the floor
Of my hunk of rust with wheels.

I can’t help notice
How when I walk to the toilets now
My pockets don’t jingle anymore
But instead just let out muffled clinks
Of the last couple of coppers I have
And a single ten pence piece.

And through the poison
And fogged clarity of my brain
I can still tell the walk to the facilities
Is bumpy and difficult
Like there are twenty different paths
And my feet want to take all of them.

Double vision
So bad that when I take my phone from my pocket
I have to hold it four inches from my face
Just to see that it’s passed midnight
And you still haven’t bothered
To return the calls you missed.

Ill and broken and
Depressed and numb
It takes all the concentration I have
To avoid pissing up my leg
Before staggering out of the cubicle into the bar
Without stopping to wash my hands.

Sympathetic looks all round
From all the faces that know me
And a couple of folks I don’t know
Playing cards in the corner
But who needs sympathy when you can
Just drink the pain away.

But there’s not pain
Just numbness
And all it does is leave the senses decayed
And the mind dulled
And makes all the coins jump right out of your pocket
And all the booze it can buy gurgle right down your throat.

Monochrome parking lot
With just one sodium street lamp nearby
That looks grey for some reason
As I stumble around the corner
Looking for my car:
The shittiest that money can buy.

Might’ve been advised something
To walk or call a cab
But I can’t remember now
And besides:
All I want to do is just sit
And maybe sleep until I can think straight.

Run my fingers through my hair
And let out one long sigh
Before resting my head on the steering wheel
Greasy folds sliding down onto its leather
Should’ve washed it days ago but
You can’t feel the water when you’re numb.

Slip the phone from my pocket and
Spill the last few coins back onto the floor
Where they were probably
Culled from in the first place
Before they chanced being spent on
The twenty units in my bloodstream.

Flick through the contact list
And find you
Hesitate and then hit green
Knowing there won’t be an answer
This is the fortieth call you’ve missed
If I can count right.

“Leave a message at the tone”
Beep and then silence
Before I hang the phone up
And drop it on the floor
Sad that this is the only way I can hear your voice -
Car accidents do that to a person.

With a spinning head
I dig in the glove compartment
Pull out a pack of smokes and light one
Take a single drag
And then stub it out
Because the kick is gone.

The sky is clouded so all I see is
An endless expanse of black
I stare into it for a few long minutes
Trying to focus my mind
And instead just getting
Dizzy with the drunken spin.

Ill and broken and
Depressed and numb
I dig both my fingers hard into my nose
And scratch with my nails
So when I withdraw them
They’re both wet with blood.

I consider the liquid for a moment
And notice it looks black in the night
Before putting my fingers in my mouth
Just to taste the copper
And remind myself that
I’m still alive.

jellyfish · 05-11-2008, 07:20 PM

Okay, this is the third time I've read this today. Must mean it speaks to me in some way; I just haven't figured out the appeal yet. But it definitely has appeal. The only thing that bothered me was the mention of coins on the floor of the car the second time. Once seemed like enough. Otherwise a very haunting piece.

PrisonerOfPrey · 05-12-2008, 04:40 PM

This, I believe, needs to be shortened. You use a lot of words prose would, not poetry. If you could just trim this to its bare bones, keep only the most haunting and powerful phrases it would be wonderful. As it is now, I read it...and read it...until it seemed like the end, but I was only half way through. I like it, but it really needs to be cut up a bit, made more poetic and powerful.

surfacetoday · 05-12-2008, 10:36 PM

I liked many things about this poem. It's truthfullness, for one, was refreshing, and it managed to make viable use of a cellphone within the perameters of verse, so I applaud you for that, but there some things that did not help it. The "depressed... and... and... numb" bit was unecessary. I could guess that from the words. The only way I could see it working out within the poem is if it was using more ironically: you making it a single line, and thus a summation of all the terms that doctors and psychologists provide to describe how you feel, but in reality don't do anything to help or quantify the difficulty of pain like you (or your character) seem to be experiencing.
Also, the lines like "drink the pain away." This is trite. You are better than a bullshit cliche that could've been gleaned from any Nickelback song; you proved it with the imagery and beauty of the first two verses about the change and your rusty car. So I know you can write it more insightfully.
Over all I enjoyed it thoroughly though. It beats the hell out of most of the shit on here.