Sometimes I go places or see people that used to be a huge part of my life and my body doesn’t know how to react. Torn between timelines. Two people at once. Past me and present me do not fit well together. Opposites do not attract because I feel my two selves pulling apart. I used to say the only person for me is me, but not even me is me. Do you get it? I don’t think I get it.
You are far from anyone. Miles, hours, large measurements of distance and time. You live by yourself in what you and most people call the middle of nowhere. You love being alone. You were born for it. But the mailman comes. He knows you by name. You are one of few on his daily drive. He knows you receive weekly letters from Tracy, and has even learned some other names too. Do you think he knows that every letter begs for your return? He finds you in your garden on Monday mornings. He cares about your produce. He knocks when it rains. He is one of many that care, that pay attention. The people of work refer to you by name, the customers do the same. There is never anyone new. You know what they are there for. They search for corn, cabbage, rice and you. You cannot beg them not to care. Do you think they care? They ask about your cat. Questions are traps. You ride your bike for miles until you reach the safety of your large, lonely home. The ringing in your ears does not let you forget. They are talking about you. They know not to eat your apples but they will continue to buy them. You wish you could stop selling apples, or maybe that you would stop poisoning them. Why must you poison them? Is the phone ringing or is that your ears again? What's the difference? They are thinking about you either way. You gave up inventing something to erase yourself from their minds when you moved here. You need it more than ever. The grass grows long, weeds consume your garden. The mailman still knocks. Your ears ring when you avoid the windows. He knows you're there because you still read the letters. The grass is long but the pile does not grow.
You are surrounded by people. They rush past you while you sit on a bench that has grown very attached to you. It does not know you by name. You cannot remember the last time you heard your name. You give them a new one every time you order a cappuccino at your usual coffee shop. Everyone is too busy looking at everyone else. No one looks at you. You walk fast, tall, confidentially. You are completely invisible. You were born to be. You are yourself because you can be. You hide in the skyscrapers shadows. They have always been there for you. Your friends are benches and birds. They think you are gentle. You hide behind your computer screen forty hours a week. You do not mind when it looks at you. Does it mind that you look at it? Your mattress is on the floor. You are grounded fourteen floors above the ground. The guard does not make your ears ring so you do not mind him smiling. No day is like the last. Nothing is predictable. You hear everything with the lack of a ring. You are here. You are you. You are alone and you are happy. The mailman does not knock when he leaves bills in your box. He does not care about your produce. He does not remember your name. What is your name again? No one's ears ring because of me. My thoughts are taken up by the way the sky looks between buildings. There is no grass, there is no pile.
I woke up nose running, head stuffy perhaps it's the flu Or maybe I'm just sick But I am feeling very lethargic so I Google it Google says I'm dying Now why is Google sending me death threats I don't know but I'm not going to the doctor that's when the real trouble begins
i'm naught but a hopeless addict craving moments that never happened daydreams that float inside my head drifting into an inevitable oblivion the imaginary dust of false possibilities a sweet ecstasy that decays the mind
I am haunted: Not by poltergeist, but by my unlived lives. Parallel universes won't ever speak, they took an oath to keep from me. I have words and voices humming in my head that will never be met outside of my bed. I have to accept I cannot have it all, I have to accept knowing nothing at all.
Bent over the painted lines of her road. Stood a black feathered crow peeling back a tendon of flesh, Like a strand of red twizzler candy, from the tannish white fur of a dead bunny.
she thought this was cute.
"AWW! THEY'RE KISSING!!"
Her daddy did not correct her.
This memory, he revisits every time she brings a new boy home. Debates internally, the tipping scales that balance ignorance and optimism. If maybe he should have explained the beauty in death, rather than let her beleive her illusions. The beauty in nature, the circle of life.
Like a cat, she brings home dead animals
Like the owner of a cat, He is unimpressed.
Maybe if he told her the bunny was dead, she would stop offering herself to the crows.
are you afraid of parking garages do you think of empty parking spaces with empty cars beside them like your own compartmentalized mind do the empty spaces scare you like my own scare me are you afraid of the dust are you afraid of the ghosts sitting where people once were are you afraid of parking garages are you afraid of the lonely silence are you afraid of the concrete walls that are more solid than anything that you have ever created are you afraid that you'll be just as cold just as lifeless are you afraid of parking garages are you afraid of where they take you are you afraid of the airports that you always end up in missing those that never come back are you afraid of parking garages are you afraid that you'll park and that you'll never leave are you afraid of parking garages are you afraid of the flickering lights and your own shadow bouncing in front you are you afraid of going somewhere and never coming home are you afraid of your home and when they asked you where home is did you stutter because you almost said someone's name instead of a place or is your home that parking garage blank and grey empty and hollow are you afraid of parking garages