Dark floats out into the silence
Crashing on the banks of Prometheus's wings
Opening a velvet-silk curtain.
To a fabric of shadowed stars
Cloudy fingers sew it clean
While invisible hands stitch pearls back in.
A ghost flits on the hallway stair
Reaching for the last shafts of sun
Tumbling off a silent dream
Blind as black with a lullaby hum
Filling the gaps in an empty line
Somewhere between dusk and dawn.

Maybe
It is genetic
Genes
Passed down like these
Worn out jeans
I got from my dad
This would be from daddy too

Maybe
I just need something to blame
For my
Anger
Abandonment
Hate
Lack of *** appeal

Maybe
I mean,
I cry all the time
For the absence of ease
For liquor
For love

Maybe
I want to have a problem I can actually
Fix
Instead of creating a mess of
Duct tape and angst
Hide the problem
Behind the adhesive

Maybe
I don’t want to just
Smile vaguely
While others
laugh loudly
Sharing a zeal
I once had

The pillows are arranged
the chairs all un-sat in
my bedclothes pressed
as if no one has slept in them

My desk is tidy
the pens in a jar
notebooks stacked
as if I never struggle

My shelves are full
novels organized by author
the remote next to the TV
as if I never indulge

The floor is spotless,
the carpet is straight
the shoes in are rows
as if I never go anywhere

My bedroom, newly cleaned
stares at me
with wide blinds
and an open door


As if I am a stranger