i haven't been myself
for quite some time -
different versions,
lingering as long
as appropriate
(or long overstaying
their welcome),
shuffling from one
skin to the next,
one pain
to the next -

we redress,
nurse the wounds
(we've gotten
good at this),
a facsimile
of a person
until i find the real one  

but being a person
at all
these days
is like repeating the same
song, the same wave,
the same splotch of starry sky
through the kaleidoscope
of every open eye
bleeding together
into hazy nothingness
and everythingness

it's been silent ever since
and i'm not sure
i'd recognize self
anymore than she'd
recognize me
one and the same

but only by name.

I'll throw every piece of darkness holding me back to the bin.
And as Liza Minnelli has sung,
Maybe this time,
Maybe this time I'll win.

It almost happened.
I was almost good enough for him.
He almost took responsibility, our magnet pieces of love almost gathered,
Before the scene got all dim.

I never knew this would be my lesson,
In a closed book, an endless waiting session...
Now, the page turns on me and you,
The story is about to end, not with a goodbye, with the almost, in a blurry view...