My memory is spotted,
vast emptiness otherwise scattered
with traumas and pinpoints
of happiness in a dusky life,
and it weighs these the same.
I am melting; the memories
I do have war against themselves
fighting to stay submerged -
or perhaps I'm the one
pushing them back down.
Somewhere I realize,
faded into another hour of thought,
this all will exist always
but I have room in there
for new things, too.
In the center of my mind
you come in with
organizers and soft cloths
shining like headlights
coming up the driveway
I am as Icarus, struggling to attain
with wide windows and open floor plans
it falls beneath and crumbles to ash
back from the Midas touch I tremble
desire path perfectly worn among emerald
now dusty remains of potential life
it coats everything and won't come clean
so I move backward and down, a sorry Atlas,
cuddled among the shadows, the roaches,
wondering how to conquer the hills
and waiting for something to repair my wings.
It's not that I think you're barren inside
skeletal like trees in the wintertime
it's doubts and fears making their patrols
oh how I can't put it back inside my mouth
floating free for the butcher's block, your
slight and pacifistic fist clutching ways to harm me
with that indiscernible look to your eyes
hinges on somedays and maybes
where now is my house, my safe spot
my porch-rocker partner and friend
I have this hidden weight in my chest -
if it is briefly grief of what's come to pass
or a piece forever missing in the middle
I don't know - I muddle through
with scribbles in a chewed-up book
Being by myself was never an easy thing for me
my body is my temple, you're your own best friend bullshit
doesn't account for empty hours of individual hobbies
I want laughter, I want someone to share my blunders and triumphs
I worked out today and this was all I could think of
my tears blend with the sweat and either way I can't fucking see
I go to my car and know I'm about to cook another meal for one
too many dishes to justify the effort if you ask me
Lately I've been having more trouble with being just me
pill fog, feedback missing, panic at the concept of breathing
overrides any creativity I once had quieting the harsh images
I want color, I want something to make me feel the edges of life
I cooked dinner today and this was all I could think of
the oil spatters over the stovetop and either way it's a mess to clean
I wash the dishes and I wish there was a goddamn spark in my head
too many messes to justify the effort if you ask me
I dream you whisper into my flesh
the same hidden dreams I covet
a feeble thing just finding its legs
burn into me some phrase
spiral into a shared vortex
at once safe, and seen
I dream you wish into my neck
not hinging on logic and measures
allowing yourself to give abandon
burn into me some phrase
I will smolder these words
raising you from the ashes
I dream you welt into my palms
patterned rain of lips and earnest
softly spoken illogic commitments
burn into me some phrase
as I burn my candle in the middle
waiting for sleep to come again
See me, a fractured tibia; when I need most to follow
I will trip and spill all over the pavement with a splash
spreading into an irreconcilable difference of life
droplets spraying pieces of me that will never return
without a containing element I continue to leak
marrow from the bones and I will crumble soon
wasted of these shattered participations and hopes
I cannot impress enough upon you how I
rend from skin and pool into gradients
so desperate for things I can't force or predict
and am left limping with particles falling
languishing for someone to hold the procession
to bind me, cast me into a better light, maybe even
love me with enough force to set the broken bones
in stabbing the walls for release
bargaining they were born and flesh
with some right to be voiced
instead of as they are, transient
fleeting ideas that my medication-
addled mind can no longer grasp
fading through the cracks of psyche
erasing me as though by measure
of each song I used to love
I fear one day there will be nothing left
and no one to notice, anyway
discordant jazz run amok
in the prettiest of sections I thrive
on the plucky cello rhythms
lifting like laughter with horns
then the timing changes and dips
I am the one who waits
in this doldrum lull of saxophone
slowly melting a version of Baker Street
it's so hard to know the secrets
of your heart - misconceptions or
hopeful thinking in the piano,
I just play for the next set wondering
when the violins will appear
The secret is, I'm a drag
ball and chain deadweight stone anchor
grinding internal monologues
unvoiced but for lack of belonging
purgatorial couch-sitting agoraphobia
imperfect feasts, isolation in events
where once the sound of laughter dominated
