If I could start over
lingering at the doorway of a fading past,
swimming in the nostalgia of nascence.
The difference between fantasy and horror is what you want to be and the consequences of what you become.
If I could cling to those moments knowing what I do now
everything would be different.
Would I revert to before I met you, before I craved you, before I moved through the world breathing through we as past tense- the silent turmoil in my chest?
Newness is slowly chipped away by the education that life bestows.
Every mirror shows me the same woman with changed eyes.
Less afraid and less believing
less impressed by compliments doled out
with insidious purpose.
Skin coated with moments that numb the senses
emotion kept in formaldehyde.
“If I could” is a helpless space
a dam against the bile of fear
the hands of unmet desires reaching
from the underbelly of my terrain
doomed to find nothing
Whatever she is, the reflection.
Whatever I am, the inhabitant.
We are what we are.
It is a truth sometimes savory
sometimes a siege upon my senses.