Invisible Man Blues


Inspired by Henry Rollins, “Invisible Woman Blues” from his book, Black Coffee Blues


alone in bed


I lay down in my bed, ready for the Sandman to take me into a deep resting slumber. As I close my eyes, that’s when you appear. Every single night, like clockwork, you invade my space.

My sacred space.

My mind is consumed with your deep and soulful eyes that burn holes into my subconscious. I want to run and hide from your gaze. I cannot escape you.

The thought, image, touch and scent of you. I can only imagine. You never speak. You don’t need to. Every single night it’s the same thing. I always awake in the morning, cold and alone.

I can sometimes feel your body next to mine. Tonight is one of those nights. I curl into fetal position and start to cry, imagining your arms pulling me close to you. Over and over you haunt me. My mind races. A faint whisper escapes your lips into my ear, but I cannot hear you.

I do not understand this. How can someone like you have a hold on someone like me?

I hate this. I get mad and knock the images of you out of my mind and kick your astral form out of my bed as I stretch from one side of the bed to the other. There is no room for you or anyone for that matter, in my bed. My mind. My heart. My life.

I feel victorious. For a single solitary moment.

I hate you.

I hate you with such a fiery passion for stirring my mind and heart from its self-imposed prison. Just walk away and leave me alone, that’s all I want.

Alas, we both know that is a lie.

As much as I want to be alone, I want you here with me. It’s a long, hard fight within and without. Damn these emotions, they make me feel weak. I hate feeling like this.

All I want is to be numb. To be cold. To be invincible and impenetrable.

Yet most of all – to be with you.

Good night, my sweet illusion.

I’ll see you in my dreams.