The pounding against the back of my eyes shakes me awake, as the grinding of dry gears drills into my head. I feel like I’m falling backwards and instinctively, I clutch for my pillow. After several spins around the room, I crack my eyes open to the blinding light of a new day. My brain throbs in protest. I feel certain that any movement will be painful, but my bladder demands a genuine response. As I push myself off the bed, a wave of nausea rises up to meet me, and I choke back the spasm in my throat. The thought of dying seems preferable to the concept of vomit.
As I stumble through the kitchen, I notice that my purse is spilled out on the counter, and I wonder whether I’ve been rolled again. It’s bad enough the residue these guys leave behind, but they want to steal my money too. I suppose I could call the law, but how would I describe him. My mind cramps as I try to picture his face. I have a vague recollection that he was tall, but maybe that was the guy from last Tuesday. I think his name was Ken, or maybe Jim. It was loud and I couldn’t quite make that out. In a wisp of clarity, I realize that maybe I just spent all that money, so I let go of that rope.
I hold on to the wall as I make my way back down the hallway and a surge of panic courses through me as I realize that I’m not sure what day it is. I can’t afford to lose another job. I fumble for my phone on the bedside table, noticing that it only has 15% charge, that I have six missed calls from my mom, and that it’s Sunday. “Thank God” slips from my lips, but then I chuckle at the irony (Alanis Morissette would be proud of me). My hands shake as I struggle to grip the bottle of my mental health meds. I take two, knowing that I’m in for a rough day. I swallow them down with a gulp from a glass of some lukewarm liquid from the windowsill. My throat once again clinches back a spasm.
As my head crashes back to the mattress, I once again wonder about last night. I seem to remember a guy, but maybe that was last Tuesday. As my mind reels, the smell of the sheets cast a vote, and I lose any doubt about what transpired. Indeed, the stains on these sheets testify to all the times I’ve passed out next to someone and woke up alone. I try to console myself that it’s better this way. No complications. No messy relationship drama. But the chasm between those who are willing to come home with me, and those who are willing to stay echoes in my soul. They act like they want me, but they never actually chose me. Somehow that seems even more hollow than being alone. I feel like I want to cry, but my meds are doing their blessed work, as the numbness takes hold.
For now, I just need to sleep. Maybe later, I can grab something to eat and by tonight I should be ready to go again! See page 405 for details.
Bjcorbin's Blog 
Hollow Mansion – Revisited
Posted in Commentaries, Free Verse / Poetry, Opinions, Social / Political, Word Pictures, tagged facade, fame and fortune, hollow, iconic stars, Michael Jackson, painkillers, Prince, star studded funeral, Whitney Houston on April 26, 2016| Leave a Comment »
Our culture has an endless fascination with the rich and famous, which becomes especially acute when an iconic star passes away (e.g. Michael Jackson, Whitney Houston…). Last week’s untimely death of pop music star, “Prince” is a case in point. For days, or sometimes weeks, the media is saturated with images of the star, clips of weeping fans, tributes from other celebrities, intrigue about the facts surrounding their death, a sudden burst of interest in their catalog from decades ago, often times revisionist retrospectives of their body of work, a slow parade of alleged insiders who claim to have some new tidbit of information, and sometimes even a star-studded funeral to send them off. We tend to view their life through the lens of their glorious accomplishments and their vast renown; but I would suggest that more often than not they pass from this life broken and alone. The myth of fame and fortune is stripped bare by death. I doubt seriously that anyone has ever asked that their gold records, or Grammy award, or Oscar, or Olympic Medal be brought to their bedside as they face their final minutes. Ultimately, the quality of a life isn’t defined by its shiniest moments, but by those day to day instances when no one is looking. In the end, it will be about who we have loved, and who has loved us. The piece that follows is something I wrote years ago to portray the emptiness of such an existence. For me, fame and fortune is like this hollow mansion.
*
Hollow Mansion
*
My eyes flick open to the dim light of the pre-dawn morning
and my head throbs with the dull ache of the night before
There is a beautiful woman lying beside me
but I find myself straining to remember her name
When she wakes, I’ll have to pretend that last night meant something to me
but for now, I couldn’t be more alone
*
As I stare at the ornate ceiling of this massive room
I can see all the cracks along its edges
They not only speak of the sandy soil on which this estate was built
they testify to the weak foundation of this new life that I have established
While everyone else’s eyes are naturally drawn to the beautiful gold trim
all I can see is the fractured façade
While they all seem to notice the extravagant furnishings in each room
I find myself focusing on the vast empty space created by every high ceiling
*
These thoughts take me back to the water stained ceiling of my childhood bedroom
and I find myself wondering whatever became of that little boy
I also remember lying awake in a little trailer, many years ago
wondering how I was going to support my young bride & our new baby
Back then, paying the bills was my greatest struggle
but now that those debts are more than covered, I’m struggling with the price that was paid
*
I’d trade everything I’ve gained to erase the hurt and confusion in my children’s faces
as I pulled our family apart on the way to making my own dreams come true
I’d give it all back for the woman who loved me
when I had nothing to offer other than a desire to share her life
I’d gladly forfeit the drafty halls of this hollow mansion
for the warmth of the place that I used to call home
I’ve finally figured out that it’s better to have one person who loves you for who you really are
than to have ten thousand who love the person they imagine you to be
*
Unfortunately, by the time I came to understand this, it was too late
As the raging waters of my desire had already swept away any moorings for a bridge back
So as the first rays of the sun begin to creep across the windows
I swallow a couple of painkillers to prepare for the day that lies ahead
And as the beautiful stranger lying next to me stirs from her sleep
I push my face into a smile and utter, “Good morning darling”
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