The Coldest of Armchairs

Who knew this would be it? Reliving a similar and universal experience with the wrong crew on the daily? Everyone is walking on the top but not getting down or proceeding north, just a sad twirl that everyone is witnessing. It's a deep heart ache that makes your insides turn and questions every motive. How to make a sharp right turn, how to organize the damage and deal accordingly. This isn't what I wanted. This isn't it. This is something else. You seem ok, steady, even; and I am disappearing. I've seen the untouchables wade through catastrophe like water through open space but you're not that either. No, you're something else entirely. It doesn't encompass you the way it does me; I don't think you see any better than me though. Not through those sad eyes Not through this plain picture Not through these impermeable measures. I tire of walking the same " ." It seems endless and predictable resolve seems far. When has it ever not? Closed off, legless reindeer, door slamming silent agendas and top notch avoidance quotas are being met everyday with more fervor than the previous time. Tough to take, tough to keep up with, tough to choose The slap that never comes, a harsh "come to" a call to subconscious arms that commits only psychic warfare and wins without waking you, while I m not fading half as fast as I would like. This time tomorrow will be more of the same Same answer will be hanging in the air like a broken wind chime you can't bring yourself to discard and you will be too, slowly doling out fictitious spoonfuls of "contentment" while we both lye waiting. Waiting for the........

Going on 5.

I can't breathe. Every breath is a miracle that it comes to fruition. I can't see in front of me but I know there's a drop It's every bone being carved into unsedated every movement unpredictable and spinal tap after spinal tap all gathered under a starless sky once there were so many vacancies, now there are none. Now, you are decisive Now, you have a voice Now, you stand up Resilience has become my character defect and the thing resentments are clothed in. I have been here the whole time I have been here the whole time I have been here the whole time Loving a phantom Loving you in spite of Loving you anyway There are few safe moments for me with you but I love you anyway. There are words that I would have exchanged for a fractured jaw in 6 places in their place than hear them from you I love you anyway. There are actions not taken that I would have traded for a year of silence I love you anyway. There are faults left unclaimed that I would have gladly taken to watch peace take place in your eyes You handed me a razor. I've taken number after number for the other side and this is the grand moment in a stairwell alone that I would welcome another chance. Opportunist at best. I see you I see you caught I see me drowning in an endless blanket of past possibilities and too much experience. I see you drowning in the same blanket; different accompaniments; less experience, too much self inflicted notions of exactness and only drops of love. I understand. I can't breathe I can't see My chest has scooped itself back in it's cavity, for now. I promise, by the next frost, I'll do better by an untouchable spirit that wants to let go. A quaking Aspen will guide my way back to the place with one light Back to the place where she is Back to the place you fear so much. I'll be the one covered in snow you'll see the one with a broken finger, only on the right and a cedar heart. I m waiting waiting here at the mouth I'll always be waiting until you tell me not to.

The Process of Dying.

It's a slow long lethargic good bye that makes the hair on your arm stand up. A coming together of everything in the world you've ever feared. You must take the stairs now, no other option. Elevators are a lofty after thought. The wringing in and out of your intestines that shows up on your face in the ever present "How are you?" Feeling like the bottom is dropping from every moment, not knowing how difficult the next breath will be, a seething darkness that abides so close that there is no chance of shaking it. Maybe. Maybe you would have been better off going comatose. Maybe the hollow point should have bore out more than just your vein, maybe......just maybe. Making the silence numb is not a possibility. It clamors about in self defeating cyclone of what if's, what about's and every scream, every yell that has been not heard for what it was, the fear of you not being loved. On a cellular level, it all combusts on a nuclear level, Area 666 kind of shit. I meant it, I meant that I committed to long haul, I meant it every step of the way. Perhaps you don't. You don't. You haven't. A mirror un-adhered to, is an excruciating thing to have to walk by everyday, so I understand but it does not negate the fact that I drown every minute of every day with an ache that only a Christian could pray away, and I am not so hope evades me, as it should be. What if one day I wake up one day and it's ok? What a tragedy. Stage 4 feels immanent. This is a drowning with an audience and an empty grave that is being filled with all of the unsaid and disabled actions that could have made this paragraph non existent. Slowly being dismembered by an unseen force but seeing it all the time makes for dog days amplified. Hard times baby, hard times.