My house is a mess but my heart is warm-I bleed the past in coughs of madness
But my heart is warm
You cannot count on me as I cannot count on myself
But my heart is warm
I’ll forget your face but forgive your slap
I’ll search the store for honey then put it back
I talk in circles
But my heart is warm
Kitty paws and muzzled jaws
I’ll slide through you
Quiet as ghost on ghost
Residue of former love
and I’ll turn to see you run
O, lonely soul
Remember your heart was made for better things than sorrow
Morrow winds snap branches
But the roots hold
Your roots hold
Be kind in the extension of your hand
And dance with me
Drawl of flatline
Clouded rivers
Seaweed forests
I’m buried without a bell
But hopeful
Hopeful
Because I love you
a line drawn up from the anchor of hope
Through the wallpaper
Hornet’s nest amandine
Through the cracked paint
Blue shadowed boxer
I dip into moonrise
Extend my canine teeth
And howl
lead me to a proper ending
Today’s feast of shivering grey
Has me in free fall
Wash my hands in your tears
I implore
For I cannot forgive myself
There is no way home
Sandstone brain
Etched out by confused ants
Memory loss
I explode for you
Cascade of fireworks
Down comes the bathroom door
No crying alone, I say
We squeeze glumly around the cold toilet
On porcelain his knees my back
My arm flung over the seat
He cries alone just enough
Until I interrupt in giggles and laughter
Remember how you saved me
By your presence
And relieved there’s an allowance-
those served in love can return in service
The problem of extracting your life from another’s
Is they don’t care the reason
Suicidal
Chronic illness
Depression with a plan
Schizophrenia
They see closing doors as an upfront to them
How dare you do this to me
Not the rubber casing you’ve responsibly put around them
How dare you not trust them- believe they could take it?
How could I when this alone has upset you.
This alone may happen ten times in three years
Radio silence
Or a behind the counter tantrum
Shuttered away from prying eyes
And if it slips out oh now
The unacceptance is personal
You’re a pain-giver now
A pain-giver always must shut his doors
And warn away stray thoughts of tenderness
A pain-giver must always carry his grief in case the shut out have need of its bottled bitters
Have need to shout
Everyone knows once they get in, they just want back out
Cracked upon a hair, full open, closed fast
You’re in here by yourself
I have no desire to write poetry what’s up with that I always want to write poetry it’s like an asp sunk into my neck a pulse a quickening a thread of death I can’t stop pulling into me with every breath I’ve lost the storyteller’s march I mock I dally I linger with stomach pains in oh’s and art’s- the matter is heart I’m poisoned or venomed or ah heck I don’t want to write poetry.
AbyKittiwake 