You're gone,
clear disappeared off the radar.
But your image has burned
scars into my retina.
Green shadows of you follow every glance,
every motion natural to sight.

Slowly, it distorts
and sheds off the shadows
of reality.

It morphs into ever more horrifying things.
And yet this phantom is still not as haunting
as the fear of your voice
that preyed upon me every day you used to
say those three words to me.

And, yes.

This piece is about you.

Dear Darling,

We've had it nice these past few years haven't we? All those nice restaurants we've sampled, nice places we've been, nice shows we've seen. You kiss me goodnight every night and I ask you about your day every day. So caring of us. I take care of the groceries every Wednesday, and you buy me flowers every Friday. So sweet of you. Life is good...but I kid myself. I find it to be a rather funny joke too, despite being sadly pathetic. It's the inside joke I tell myself to make me smile in front of you. Don't you think it's funny how we pretend to love each other through all these meaningless motions? A class A clown act of two. Ha ha.

I began to wonder recently why we continue to ridicule ourselves before each other when it's as clear as my cubic zirconia wedding ring that we do not belong together. I belong far, far away from you. Scratch that. You belong far, far away from me. I once considered running away to Boston and starting a new life, but hell, you're not going to run me out of my home that I mortgaged. I like where I am--I just don't like you.

Okay, I have a confession. I cheated on you. Many times. With many different men. I come home flaunting the leathery smell of expensive cars and various aftershaves, and you take it. You just soak it all up and hack it up later in the shower. You're disgusting. That's probably the only thing we have in common. We're both sorry excuses as people, but you know what? That gives me a good reason to stay and continue buying groceries and taking you to places I want to go to. Because I hate you. If you ever read this letter, you would definitely leave me, but I won't let you read it. Instead, we're going to suffer together, from each other. That's right, I'm going to keep asking you how your day was, and I'm going to love the flowers you buy me, and I'm going to have so much fun on our little dates, and I'm going to continue laughing at you, hating you.

My hilarious little inside joke that you'll never be in on.

Love,
Your Sweetie

It take not minutes, months nor years
for it to happen,
for someone like me
to disappear.
In a matter of moments,
you can be free
from the weight of me standing here
if you just allow someone else's laughter
to fill the silence I bring to your deaf ears.
Don't worry, my dear.
Nobody hurts if you just
tell yourself the things you want to hear.
You need not fear, for
I won't even be your dust,
blown off a surface
just to settle somewhere near.

Tonight, I begin to dream.
Of spicy ice cream
that drips down the chin
and freezes bones beneath the skin.
Of cotton candy hair
so irresistible I'm unaware
that I'm infatuated and suffocating
inside her sweet thing.
The sheets twist and whirl around her neck,
but this fantasy's unfurled--I'm blind to what's next.
My pillow screams,
or maybe it's me?
Meanwhile angels lament
that I began to dream.

You smother me
because you know I suffer to breathe.
You bite off
the growth I try to deny.
We, next to each other, form a
mismatched beauty
like abstract art,
lovely and
nonsensical.

my body is a dump for drugs
treat this
treat that
pollution for my body
flavorless
noxious
debilitating
fogging sight from the inside
it takes time
time they won't let me have
everyone wanted to save my life
save my performance
but the performer is high
not up in the clouds
but down in spaces of Limbo
wondering with slack muscles
what now am I good for.
Someone take an iron rod to my bones
and break the useless rack
or prop the body up,
make it presentable.

I suppose
layouts say something about you.
Some like to splatter blood on
your screen with every visit,
and others take you to the reclusive woodlands, lakes, or mountain tops
--somewhere beautiful--
where I suppose they imagine to be the home of their thoughts.
I should like to imagine so too, but
I splurge on the fluffy dreams sold in storybooks.
Causing change conveniently gives the illusion
that I have changed
into something

more?

How lovely
How enviably innocent
How free

Ambiance goes oh so not very far with the ambivalence that taints it.

I think I just want more substance.

All I have to offer
is all I dare to take,
and what of the person I wanted to make of myself?
She's here,
or there,
somewhere in the backroom
waiting for the spotlight that'll never shine
upon her unsplendid figure.
We can whine and pine away this life,
waiting to sing the songs of our souls,
but backstage is where she belongs,
this much age has taught me.

Instead of leaving footprints,
a trail of ink follows my steps.

Ink never forgets.
Supervision of every motion

how fast, how slow,
nothing left unknown.
I walk on graph paper,
my blueprint fate
obeying the law of the ruler,
rules of the grid
rules of straight scales
rules of control.

The walls groan and reinforce the torment of the night. I want it to be quiet. Pain pounds my head and I wonder if it is because my pillow is too flat. I try to get comfortable, but as I try to take a deep breath, my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth and denies me the simple comfort to breathe. The air is so dry. The heater hisses and clanks and sucks away every drop of moisture from the air. I imagine what it would be like to have a humidifier. Then I imagine the bacteria pumped into the air, the pages of the books dampening from the moisture, and the droplets of moisture I would wake up to on my face. I need a cloud in my room, or a shower that always runs steaming hot water. I wish I could sleep. I wish I could sleep comfortably. I have an exam the day after tomorrow. I wish I could call someone so that he can make me sleep. Nobody would be awake or appreciate my call this deep into the night. I wonder how the nocturnal creatures feel during the day. It's always noisy and bright during the day and dark and quiet during the night, except in my room. I wonder if an opossum lives a happy life. If I could just fall asleep in the next five minutes, I would be so happy. How do I make the walls stop groaning? It annoys me to no end, as if the walls could be more miserable than I am. If I had a million dollars, I would buy myself a house, a farm, dogs, and a husband. That boy...and that girl...that night...make it stop.... The blanket smells really bad. I wonder if it could make me sick. There is no tag with cleaning directions on it, and I would probably ruin it if I tried to wash it, but hand washing never fails. The bathroom sink is not a good place to wash my blanket. I would need to work some more to buy a new blanket. What a waste. SLEEP! Why have you forsaken me? My own brain is plotting against me. It is committing sanity suicide. I don't want to resign to insanity, I have too much left to accomplish. I want children! I want to make my parents proud and to get married. I want to be rich and travel the world and discover the cure for greed. Humans would be better off enslaved by animals. Animals are cute. I want a wolf, but I need air conditioning during the summer. The thermostat never worked in my room, and I will curse this horrible night forever. What could make the walls groan like that? I have never heard such a thing. The forecast says it will snow tomorrow. I can't decide if that will make me happy nor not. I know not being asleep is definitely making me unhappy. I am so unhappy. I am so so unhappy. Valium might help me sleep, but that stuff is addictive and I have an addictive personality. My mouth tastes bad from the dried saliva. If I brush my teeth, it might refresh me for sleep. Is that an oxymoron?