Still waters run deep, Behold the anaerobic desert of my mind: Old grudges, words unsaid, sink to the bottom And calcify.
Down and down and down, I could drown a thousand times In the time it would take me to open my mouth So I scream.
Not out loud. No. Not where anybody could possibly hear— Beneath the surface.
My heart still aches for you, Tho I know you’re gone. I counted the days, you know. The days since I dug your grave. The days since I tried to scrub the dirt from beneath my fingernails— Unable to see my hands through the tears. I don’t count the days any more. The months, yes, But the wound has scabbed over. Sometimes something gets caught. Like today. The scab ripped away and it’s fresh again. I pull an old shirt from the closet and think of you. Your phantom warmth on my skin for just one, fleeting, moment. And then I’m a mess again, just like when I found you. And I remember how cold you were that evening.
Day to day Locked away Those around me Go around me Nothing A couple billion ants Little worker bees
But for a moment Just a moment I start to wonder
The man who pushed Past me onto the bus Maybe Couldn’t be late an interview And maybe The woman on her phone in the park Just got the news her grandma died And maybe even Every single soul Is the main character Of their own narrative Eight billion threads running in parallel
But, then, just for a moment. God I need a coffee.
Open skies beckon in something broader. Would that that pale Carolina blue Would crack and tremble Beyond the midday hue And the clouds that daily assemble.
Open skies beckon in something broader. A wide dark cut with the light from a billion stars… This can’t be all there is. World weary and sore like all these old scars… Where somewhere, somewhere out there ideas still fizz.
Open skies beckon in something broader. Something that fizzes and pops and sizzles in the far dark Awful and bright and breathtaking, prodigious Something that from that broken sky might disembark Awesome and terrible and, like a thousand broken mirrors, auspicious
Once upon a time, the land was merry and gay The town folk laughed and chattered away At least, that’s how it felt. In my brain.
Before. I can barely remember it now. The voices I can’t call to the fore The noise and bustle a faint myth of yore. Because things are different now.
The sunshine has dimmed for an eternal darkness Merry is no longer made in this head Not much is made at all The energy is no longer there.
It’s quite now. I’m quite now. This dreadful, dreadful silence.
Partings are sorrow Sorrow so and such that I’ll never go Go, going, gone Gone, it was. A lie always Always it was, pretty words Words to drive a dagger into my heart Heart, a strange euphemism Euphemism for feelings and the softness of the mind Mind that I prefer the pretty words to the organs on the table
It is easier to tell someone the truth when you can’t see their face. I know this is true, and I know I’m a coward. As I hit send I feel it with all my being. We’re done. Two words, a long time coming. I couldn’t say it in person. I never would’ve be able to. Read. The little check mark alerts me to their knowledge. And then the alerts start rolling in. What’s wrong? Can we talk about this? Call me?
My mind plays tricks on me. I know it does… so why do I always fall for them? A thousand tiny hints. A flicker of a thought.. Just a flicker. In the back of my mind. I didn’t hear it. I swear I won’t. I refuse. But there it is, again… louder this time. What if? It always starts with a “what if”. What if there’s a fire? What if it were your fault? What if… And back I go. Again. And again. And again. The stove is always off. It will always be off. Except. Of course. That one time I don’t give in. The one time I don’t go back and check. So back I go, just one more time. I promise. (Not really.)
