Protected: Des souvenirs fantômes

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Nothing of me

She stands in the doorway

The outline of her slim shoulders

The hallway light seems peachy

She is home and without her

Home will be a strange wasteland

Where survivors cling to wreckage

Watching for her shape every night

The smell of her still on tortoiseshell hairbrush

Why didn’t she need it when she left?

How did she choose what to take and what to leave?

The only choice I was certain of

..

I was not under consideration

That need, to not need

Suffocating on duty and then

Deciding to toss it into waste bin

Along with other chains

I have carried as my own brand of perfume

She who gave me life, wanted life without me

Always did, from the first day they placed me in her arms

And she thought … oh no

It isn’t her fault

Love never arrived

But I am left alive

Yearning to matter, knowing I never will

It is a bigger part of me than I care to usually admit

A voice in the dark always crying for Mommy

A word I haven’t used, I know not

I thought I’d grow up and get over it

But wherever you go, there you are

In my case, a kid whose mom didn’t want

I’m still looking at doorways

Watching for her tread

In other’s faces, a memory yet

Even as I grow older than she was

When she squeezed her heart

And despite the shared DNA

Found it held

Nothing of me

Addict

I am an addict

an addict who

never takes too much

nevertheless I am addicted

in ways that are unproven or run

thin white scars shiny and tight

like crossed legs try not to uncross

I am addicted to you

I am addicted to the feeling

of being high

it’s easy when you feel like you’re dying

to reach for a bottle, a pipe, a rolled paper, anything

to take away the crime

of hurting without cause

or so it appears

to the callous world who say

get a grip for fucks sake

you are pathetic

oh yes you feel you are

lying beneath them after swallowing too much

of their blow back

see, we’re two different species

the addict and the non addicted

the latter wake up and see

they are not nailed to a cross

their fingers are not blistered and torn

rent by iron and blood

stretching in the morning sun

going for a jog

balance over balance over balance

supple minds malleable bodies

for the addict who plunges

into abyss there is nothing powerful enough to resist

everything

take a pin stab yourself

if it helps do it again

take a person cut your neck

if it helps do it again

take a lover, slice them in two

keep the half that won’t leave you

the addict only knows how to chase

the feeling of relief

blinded by the agony

of seeing

themselves without skin