near the bottom

Posted: May 5, 2012 in proselytizaytion
Tags: , ,

Bread burns in the kitchen, unattended and forgotten.
Cold vomit has congealed in the carpet in frothy pools of mucous.
You hide under the covers.

You stare off into space.

You subconsciously pick at the skin on the back of your neck
until it bleeds
and you constantly chase after release
or relief
some measure of reprieve
Something.
Something unattainable.
Some sort of fantasy.

What, I wonder, would make you happy?

I drop by
check in
tidy up
let myself out.

Sometimes, you must not even know that I’ve been until long after I’ve gone.

I embark upon my first openly musical relationship
in which I accept names and genres
and in return, I set down my color coded textures on the nightstand
without a word.

Attempting to close the language barrier
would be irritating and mentally taxing for both of us
and if either of us makes a move, will suffocate everything soon.

I think back to that worthless man who insisted that he painted sound.

Static.

The family room with the out of tune piano strikes my mind blind.
And, of course, I still miss you.

I’ve spent plenty of time with musicians
of varying degrees of aptitude, creativity, and standardized measures of success.
In fact, I’ve spent such a considerable amount of time with musicians
that I’ve had to generalize them into a type and quarantine that type as troublesome.

Best to be avoided at close contact.

It’s been a completely futile attempt at self-preservation, but all the same, it would be better to avoid you.

A persistent fatigue keeps me from sleeping.
Scrubbing pans and clothes and carpets keeps my mind idle.
Constantly grinding and gnashing teeth
with little to no desire to eat provokes and prolongs headaches that quiet my thoughts.

I spent years dodging confrontations with myself
but now that it’s just me
just me with me and me me me
uninterested but accepting that I’m here with myself
no longer stuck but merely acknowledging
that my own company isn’t all that bad…

well, take it or leave it.

Cats are boring, so I come to the dog-eared remnants of your life
on the invite of curiosity.
I want you to be happy, and I’ll offer what little assistance I can that you indicate that you want, but…I think I finally understand

five years too late.

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