me o my…

and you’re in between now. swimming in slow motion through the days, thick and heavy full of want… but you keep a lid on it. let it simmer until there’s nothing left but smoky air and a hint of scent.

no buzz today. and your leg hurts. and it’s hot. and you haven’t set foot outside. and you’re still in pajamas. and and and… you’re a run-on sentence, moving on…

you’re stuck in a later decade, feeling the bad 90’s all over again, like when you didn’t notice him snorting blow with his brother at the kitchen table, or when you sold your wedding dress to move out and took the kitten with you that he fucken named…

so many entrances and exits. people moving in and out through the revolving door. was there ever closure? was there ever a good end? you lost her to lung cancer…never got to say goodbye. you stayed silent when he showed up 20 years later asking about bowie. you confronted that pedophile and ran a fucken marathon the next day…mourning that young girl, that kid, who shut herself up from the 6th grade on…

you know, you see the light go out of their eyes just before they die…animals, and what brings the tears is the possibility that they may fear. did Dad fear? was there someone there to gently usher him to beyond?

he told me i needed to find joy. she told me that statistically, since i didn’t jump, i never would. he told me i was approachable, when all i want to do is wear my indifference. she told me i was doing well…

there’s a fresh batch of people now. but they’re really all the same from different places and times in your life, they just wear different skin. the satanist dishwasher, the oppressive female boss hell bent on showing her dick, the crappy lazy co-worker, the one that’s cool and shows up, but there isn’t a copy of you…

swim. in slow motion. think about it. remember. how glass eyes made you cry as you drove down the BQE heading north. it was the second time she was hospitalized. there’d be two more times in her future.

and you’re tired still. it’s hot and muggy. your leg is still throbbing. you’re still in your pajamas. working on that buzz, and trying to hold on, trying to let go and head towards sky above clouds…

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