i know i can’t sleep
and i have only been harmed. how do you sleep at night? never mind, i imagine it is knowing that you are right that allows rest. it is measures of assets and gains under your mattress that squeaks a lullabye.
i believe you shouldn’t be able to sleep if you had a conscience or were mature enough, were courageous enough to…. feel…
wrong.
words you are afraid of being aimed at you stand on the lip.
Truth, in other words.
yes, i am still ‘very angry’ with you. yes, you should know and hear it from me for i hate this ‘forget me’ business and the betrayal towards me and all i hold dear, which is much grander than you know.
no one else will tell you.
as it turns out Time is not a healer in week increments.
besides, the thought of you laughing or having fun pretty much rips me up. that sort of mouth wide open or buckling over should be caused by another effort entirely- as your karma -not because i think so.
it is hard to enjoy my favorite time of year, even the sun has to be introduced to me minute to minute. the leaves and their colors have to be spelled out phonetically before i really take note of their existence. the geese heading south remind me i lost my way. appreciation is difficult though i can smile everyday for pretends and redefine the answer ‘i’m fine’ to mean ’i'm suffering’ just to save myself the agony of reality. i deserve that sparing, you don’t.
all the words i won’t say to you get pretty rough and you may be able to figure them out if you applied your inner wisdom.
before you i had not known a person toward whom a fuck you wouldn’t do justice.
justice.
what a grace that would be.
i cry every day and when i force myself to stop my eyes get so dry they itch.
my hands look older and swollen from the fists they always make.
even comfort food is boulders in my gut.
i shiver with a cold from the inside out.
under my eyes the lines are colored outside of with crayons named sleeplessness and torment.
my shoulders blades are brick walls where wings once sprouted.
my heart is non responsive, i wonder if it is a kidnapped prisoner of war unable to contact home… and i wait for that video of a bag over the head plea for …. life. that is, unless it shows up racing nearly sprinting from my chest threatening to run out of this hell hole.
my dreams are stolen and replaced with house fires, gunshots or balloons popping and cackling animals fornicating shouts among other mysterious confusions.
my faith in the goodness of myself and others has wavered at such a foundation level, well,
you should know.
and never forget.
though i know you can pretend to very well.
