racked by loneliness
giving into the illusion of youth
which only romance
highlights the black and white
down and dirty
street life held its charm for me
clinging to the words of brilliance
from the giants of existentialism
Sartre, Genet, Dostoevsky, et al
something to cling to
finally
totally and unafraid
after all
man is an island
after all
made sense to me
I'd been alone on my island
as far as I could recall
perfect theory of civilization in my muddled opinion
made my actions
if not justified, at least tolerable
remorse
I reveled not in remorse
nothing mattered
I was an island, don't you know
the women?
if they shed tears because of me
didn't matter
they were on their own private island
would've been better
if they'd understood this salient point
looking back
having bitter hindsight now
about something I only subconsciously understood
Marionette
young, her and I
much, much too young
both trying to chase our own special demons away
with marriage
didn't even attempt to make it work
Nanette
perhaps the most tragic
of them all
she was running
from her dark
she found me instead
from dark to darker she wandered
Dottie
the only one with as many
or more
dark secrets as I
she had
the iron resolve of demons
and the caring mercy of angels
that's probably why
we stayed together all those years
until her death

Sartre, Existentialism and Me
my crutch
my forever, subliminal excuse
until one day
I discovered Sartre, Existentialism and Me
was an abject lie

now it all makes sense
what I did
why I could not seem to stop
my demons had too many philosophical excuses
Sartre, Existentialism and Me

©September 15, 2012 / Jerry Pat Bolton