i woke up
this morning
with this awful
pain
   behind my
left eye.
a throb.
an ache.
and it felt best
to curl up
        on my left side and
close my eyes
in the dark
and drift back to sleep.

now it is night,
and it's still there,
but worse.
a heaviness between
my eyes
pushing forward
and downward.
it helps to
push into it,
stay still.

i feel this
exhaustion in my face,
my eyes.
they want to close.

i know i'm
looking at the
same world,
but now it
seems different.
     shifted.
        and i don't understand
how i get lost
   in these delusions.
i don't understand
how anyone can
    possibly believe
that they
    see clearly.
       because it is not so.
          your eyes deceive you.

let's say,
just for kicks...
that when you walk in
your front door,
your cat is lying
next to a dead rat,
looking up at you proudly.

is the appropriate response,
to scoop up said rat
with two paper plates,
then fling it off the front porch?

just wondering.

i wish i was better
at being angry.

like taking a baseball bat
to her car kind of angry...
feeling the weight of the swing and
watching the glass shatter.

like standing outside
his place and
shrieking
obscenities,
whipping stones
at the windows
kind of angry.

it's hard for me
to even feel anger.
i default to
confusion,
sadness,
disappointment.

what i wouldn't give
to just be
furious
and unleash it
on the world
in a hellish firestorm
for the first time in my life.

but i don't know how.
i only know how to be
cryptic and weird.
ramble on and then
sulk in silence.
scribble and type
and look around
in suspicion.

i wish people
shrunk in terror
from me,
but if wishes were horses,
beggars would ride.

whatever it is
that you think
you are doing,
it is likely
you are doing
the opposite.

sleep
is perpetually
rounding the corner
                              his
                       robes
          whispering
on the ground

i follow the
        paths that seem
                         promising
          taking measures
ingesting
      pharmaceuticals
            routines in place
                                      cool air
                              soft pillows
            layered blankets
but the path
     is hard to follow
i lose my way
so i eat
i write
i drink
i search
all the nights
                of my life.

"are we playing a game?"
she asks slyly...
looking out of the
corner of her eyes.

(he is not there)

"is this a game of hide and seek,
with no seek?"

(no answer)

she has never played this game,
if that's what it is.

all the silly men
say the
same
thing.

"no drama. no games."

but she thinks
the truth is that
they thrive on drama
they come alive in games.

is this what we do, now?
arrange people like
players on a chessboard?

check them
in and out
like books?

blindfold them,
spin them around,
then run away?

Again, she asks,
"is this a game?"

(silence)

many men scurry away
from confrontation
slip away in the night
to avoid truth

"if this is a game,
i think you are losing",
she says quietly.