Walk a mile

To The Girl With The Lyin' Eyes

Listening to the guitar riff
of Hotel California, eyes closed,
the sentences won't come,
a pristine page of lined paper mocking me.
Inhaling, I tell myself to relax
and take it easy, searching futilely
for that peaceful easy feeling,
but my mind roils, chaotic,
an intellectual mutiny.
Pencil to paper, have to start somewhere,
"I can't tell you why, but..."
Eraser smudges away the scrawl,
leaving a smear, a stain.
Story of my life.
No more pristine purity,
just another bloody fuck up.
Can't let my pity party intrude
or one of these nights I'll see her again,
and look into those lyin' eyes
and it will be too late.
Crumpled paper sails over the trash,
and a fresh sheet stares accusingly.
Wish I could just toss my memories
so easily, discard all recollection of her,
deleted from my mind.
Desperado's slow melody slinks into the room,
perfectly ironic with its life lessons.
Queen of diamonds, they got that right,
just a bitch living life in the fast lane.
Lyrics inspire even as Henley's voice soothes,
and I channel Frey,
composing the perfect missive.
Fuck what anybody else thinks.


Free verse. Written 20 January 2016.