i'm very sad

in the ICU

he looks like he's sleeping
a lazy nap in the warmth-filled basement
his log fire doze

except all of those mechanical sounds
and wires
and the moving graphs
make it clear that everything is too technical

he looks comfortable
but this is no cozy place

there is a difference between a heart attack and a cardiac arrest
and then the myocardial infarction
terrifying terminology

she cries, which breaks my heart
because they fell deeper into love every day
he was mellowing
he still chopped his wood, stubborn lifting and lugging and falling
but he did the dishes, held her hand and poured her glasses of wine.

he's seen hell. 1945. maggots. limbless, but alive.

wake up. don't leave us this way.

notes to myself (like hugh prather)

its like that open wound on my hand
it just won't go away
it stings
and i drink a few glasses of wine and
think i'll stop feeling the pin pricks
but it only gets worse
i feel numb and saddened deeply
deep like my mind in a tunnel

i'm a tunneling rat.
over the last few months
i've learned to forget myself
and my problems
and now they're flooding back
meaningless things were giving me trouble
and now the meaningful things overflow in my glass
like too much red wine

i want a cigarette
but i'm trying to quit because its not healthy
i disapprove of myself
and of my breakthrough bleeding
if i didn't smoke, the pills would work better
and maybe i'd be brave enough to say
i love you.

but i'm not because my heart holds back
it encounters frozen terrain
and only when i'm drunk can i begin to say what i mean.

i remember those bopping heads,
that adorable song.
i'm listening to it now.
"hold my hand when you cut me down"
i feel like kicking my own ass
i'm a wrench, stuck twisting some random piece of metal
hopelessly, i allowed myself to
become "tired of trying... when i don't get nothing back"

i almost punched a wall today.
maybe if i had, i would have broken
the fragile, minuscule, birdlike bones in my hand.
and this would be hurting much less.
a broken hand would be a wonderful distraction.

no one reads these words, so i can say what i want.
my conscience is cleared here.
i always knew he didn't care for me.
i don't know why i allowed that.
never once was there any reaching out to tell me i was special.
no flowers, no postcards, nothing much of anything.
i let myself be walked all over.
as usual.
this is why i find it hard to trust people.
i can't let them in, because they will never like what they see.
they would learn that i am unnecessarily complicated.
as soon as he got a hint of that, he told me i was being too serious.
up up up the subway escalator. "you need to relax"
but he didn't help me relax, not one bit.
i wish so fucking much that he had.

it sent shivers down my spine when it touched my shoulders.
a circular motion. gentle. nails brushing the surface of my skin.
but that's not enough.

it means a lot.
but he doesn't want me.
and that, this time, it breaks my heart.

so, i'm drunk. and wishing i could just sleep all through the day tomorrow.
waking up is going to be hella hard.
its been that way before.
and i just hate that feeling.
its like every bone in my body is heavy and numb
but at the same time i feel everything to the highest degree. in a painful way.
i'll have to drag myself to the surface and splash my face with cold water.

intellectually, things were missing.
i could talk about political bullshit for hours with my big poppa.
we argued like bitches, but it was in the end a good thing.
i miss him, and i still haven't called my only american hero.

challenge is a good thing.
we didn't challenge each other enough.
not once a yelling match.
or any outbursts. maybe that's what was missing.
we didn't talk about much that ever shot my nerve endings.
like a match striking metallic ribbon.
and then when we did it had to do with my heart.
so i couldn't even speak because i was almost crying.

i can't talk when i'm about to cry, if you want to know a secret about me.

now, i'm almost catatonic. staring at the wall, a t.v., a mirror to see my sad blue eyes.
tomorrow, it'll be staring at people on the subway. they'll be uncomfortable. i won't even realize i'm staring.

the worst thing is that tomorrow i'm going to have to pretend to be happy.
cheerful with the customers.
this is life.
i want to move somewhere else.

i just realized
my
heart
is
broken.

my lost gestures

this time 'round
on the final coast down.
this time my heart fell too.

how is it possible to ache?
to miss something that never found me.
something that never grasped onto me,
while i clawed onto it
the way a desperate taloned claw
grabs a beautiful struggler sailing on the wind
underneath those dangerous rainclouds.

remember when we watched that nature show,
or when we listened to 80's tunes and actually laughed
even danced
i think you forgot to remember that
ages ago,
after those frozen tundra images melted
after glaciers receded.

i remember all this little bullshit,
and i feel crushed when i think
of it all surrounding me.
when i recall all the romance i planned
but never had the courage to follow through with...
because i knew that it wouldn't be reciprocated.

all the remnants. i took the influence and
downloaded it onto my hard drive, my lifeline.
i felt over eager. i still do.
an unsent valentine card.
that mix tape.
lingerie i never bought. but i tried it on.

i know he doesn't miss me yet. maybe he never will.
i miss him already, which hurts the most.

i want to tell him about all my lost gestures,
but i can't. it won't help.

weighty mood

on the counter
yogurt and diet coke
an apple a day.

a running game,
on a treadmill moving nowhere.

on the brain
a weighty mood
and things left unsaid.

an ugly little brown bird on the railing
sits for a minute and floats on by.
not very gracefully.

and the fear
of speaking up.

and the guilt
of consuming too much
of ingesting everything in sight
but not giving myself up to anyone.

never fully.

a small sound. laughter maybe.
but probably not.
it was a key in the lock of the downstairs door.

a waiting game, looking at the digital numbers.
not giving in.
not yet, but soon.

-----

this writing is bullshit.

threadbare

falling back into old habits
it always feels like the right direction
like an old t-shirt
comfortable
that one in the corner of your drawer
you pretend to abandon it
but you can never bring yourself to get rid of it
so you put it on again
and you become
perfectly threadbare
showing your bones