if i was,
for even one moment,
to forget how wholly you have made me
feel so alone,
i might, in fleeting distraction,
remember our happiness.

if i was to read
the old words between us
or look at the pictures, to wear
the shoes you bought me at the goodwill
on king street or even watch
a silly movie we'd use as background noise
to our weekends,
i might let go of a little of this
sordid hate and remember how easy it was
to love you.

and so i carry you around with me in scorn.
a bitter end to a tragic story that
made me realize the truth of isolation and the
squalid fervor of unrelenting frailty.

i am a hard shell bleeding yolk all over your porcelain counter tops.
i am drunk at 3pm, knowing you won't call and checking my phone all the same.
i am drilling holes with thumbtacks in the plaster of the walls i re-painted
when you left me just so i can dig right into something and feel the pleasure
of a sharpness piercing this architectural facade.

i am knowing you are somewhere else and having a better time.
i am boring myself with my repetitive angers and
wishing those two seconds of loser's fate did not bring us together
on a broken couch to fall across each other's laps and feel content.

but i am being medicated so that i will not dream anymore.
i am working on my physical fitness so that i might not kill myself, after all.

06/05/2010

Posted on 06/05/2010
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