Nov 23 Shorts

I.
I haven't seen you since the world fell in.

(And whose fault is that, exactly?
Not mine or I'd have known by now;
they've taken to sending out notices by mail
last one I got said
'February'
and nothing more.
I've known you, I remembered,
for February.
Maybe it was better forgotten by
March.)



II.
I want you
to come out of hiding
and run
my life for me
so I don't have to
do anything
except remember.
It takes up more time
than I expected.




III.
You said you wouldn't
couldn't shouldn't
lie to me. But I
think we both
knew you did.




IV.
I remember what it was like
when you were sick and the only
thing I wanted to do was hold you.
That was stupid of me; everyone wants
something from someone. I guess
I gave a little too
freely. But I won't ask for
that sanity back. It's
driven me off the edge,
and now I'm the one
in the hospital bed,
laughing at walls that don't exist.




V.
You think these blankets
can't remember the taste of tears?
(Been four months and counting.)
Or do you think I've forgotten?
I used to make myself cry -
tears won't abandon a lover
(you said love)
(I did)
so easily
(does that mean - )
(don't read into it; it'll hurt).




VI.
I keep finding pieces of you
around, like you were a
soldier in combat, got
blown to bits and I've
been slowly recovering
the fragments; holding
onto them, even if
that's taking it
too far. I guess that
decomposing memories
are alike enough to
rotted bodies;
no one wants to get
near enough to be
doused by the stench.




VII.
I guess I finally
figured out that
I love you has
always been
will always be
a lie; and I'm
leaving soon anyway,
so what's the point in
trying to make forever
last longer than a few breaths?




VIII.
I thought I'd learned
to mistrust perfection
properly but I guess
I've forgotten all my long
lessons, that we moved
beyond recalling what's
important or maybe
I'm managing
to fool myself
again - biological
functions and all.





IX.
I'm a better liar
than you give me credit
for being because I can
make myself believe and
what I manage to see as the
truth no lie detector can find.

(Except that once, when you
told me every time I say I'm
fine I'm lying; that might
be the goddamn truth.
But I still make believe
I'm okay. And everyone
believes me too.)




X.
You'd think I'd get over it by now
that I'd stop putting myself
into hellfire to get a scrap of
attention. But the masochistic
side doesn't like reason any more
than the sane one likes being alone.
And both aren't satisfied any longer.
Can I blame you?



XI.
I can't help but remember the way
you used to put your mouth over mine,
and breathe air back in like you were
recalling me to life from a death I
didn't know I'd suffered.




XII.
I don't have a reason for the anger.
Except that I can't make you read my
mind. And life might be so much easier
if only you could.




XIII.
Disappointment doesn't hurt as much
when I know it comes from
drugs taken six hundred miles
away.




XIV.
You're too far away.
Fix that?
Love.
Please, don't overuse
the word
that makes me lose
myself.




XV.
I miss you.
I love you.
Or was it loved?
Someone told me
that love has no
past tense;
that if it goes in the past,
it never was real.
And I think I'm beginning
to understand that.
Love.