I’m homesick for something
I’ve always wanted, yet
I’ve never had.
Whiskey & coke comes closest
to the numbness I’ve sought for a thousand years…
It’s you
It’s you
Swirling in my head
as the ice in my glass.
…
convergence.
Foggy black & white contusions appear in my nightmares
& on my wrists when I awaken;
some appear to be visions of you when you were young
& so much more hopeful
(or perhaps it is I?).
You always look so much more appealing
late in the evening
after I’ve already bid my inhibitions adieu.
But even when you creep across the threshold of my apartment,
there is nothing I can do to truly bring you close.
I’ve spent weeks dumping bottles of liquid down my throat &
into my lungs but
none of these bottles have Labels;
just warnings.
You had a label, such as this;
branding you across your ever-furrowed brow.
…
cleaving.
Indeed, months have past since we touched at all,
yet in the moments when we converse,
I seek nothing but your breath on my neck, singing,
You & I
are one in the same.
& as we both sink further into the pits of our own self-imposed darkness,
we seek light in the dimming pools of each others’ eyes.
Your smirk is full of cynicism & regret,
but what of your grin?
It brings nothing but tidings of ways to rip me to shreds
again.
…
bound.
I long for the throbbing sensation of pain after an altercation with my past demons has occurred;
at least it would be familiar company,
consistent & vivid in its haunting cackling.
When I feel as though I’ve sunk too low,
I find rest in searching the depths & finding you there
always,
fighting your own demons.
Sometimes we let ours rip apart each other’s,
so that we can have nights without them
& with each other, instead.
…
fraying.
Those nights smell so sweetly of the incense & essence of
two peoples’ pain being placed on a bedside table,
glowing
& lighting the evening of their indiscretions
(she grits her teeth & he sobs into her décolletage).
It hums gently,
careful not to interrupt the façade of happiness in numbness they share.
But it is always there,
always
there.
There so that it may continue to entangle them;
not in love
or even admiration,
but in the spirit of their willingness to delude themselves.
& that is the most binding agent of all
…
unraveling.
& lo,
& yet,
You &
I awaken
each morning
to observe
as I
come undone.
