The suffocating sky upon my skin
in heavy sheets of satin, locks me in
while rising tides trade water with the air;
my silent screams resounding pagan prayers.

Reflections cut me close and ripple past
an upward gaze  (a plea for fate recast).
The options slim: to fight or drown before
my vacant core dies flaccid on the shore.

All that I have ever known or been
gets swept away and washed ashore again
when self-indictment draws me back to you.
this masochistic need for black and blue

wraps tight around my ankles, pulls me deep
into your arms, the ocean floor - asleep.
While water fills my lungs and steals my air,
your tightened grip - it kills me unaware.

*

they say that time can heal all wounds, but can it heal all fear?
the truth disguised in little lies, the answer drawing near.
my heart in two (my soul to keep) but deeper yet, my will
drowns out beneath the water cold and settles lower, still.

The thick formaldehyde air keeps me awake.
Eight hours on fluorescent lights and lemon water
pins me to this stiff, rigor mortis chair.
Her stifled screams a ward away distract me from
counting the ceiling tiles
again.
Clocks ooze down the wall, time melting in sync
with EKGs and IV drips.
and I, alone with my blanket and Harry
turn to ask him how long we’ve been here
why the sky is blue
how much a soda from the cart might cost
if she’ll be okay.
But he just stares blankly with his cold gorilla eyes
omniscient in his eternal silence.
So I hug him closer to my chest, plastic fur
scratching at the soft spot under my chin.
Dad paces back and forth along the linoleum,
crushing grandmother’s pearls between his teeth
like candy mints.
and I, alone with my blanket and Harry
idly wonder what he’ll pack in my lunchbox tomorrow.


It takes me back -
this dilapidated Christmas card from ’99,
tucked neatly away in a drawer
of condoms and last year’s candy corn.
A family photo from OR #12 wasn’t
“appropriate”,
So we chose one from the year before.
Three faces plastered on the blood red backing,
Season’s greetings through gritted teeth.
I throw it back into the box
with other useless paraphernalia
I should have never kept.
Reaching deeper, digging through years
like bare fingers through stale grave dirt,
I find her hospital bracelet.
Twist it between my fingers.
Wrap it tight around my wrist,
breathe in the familiar formaldehyde scent.
and I, alone with my blanket and Harry
idly throw it away.