When I first met you,
You has this smile on your face.
And I swear to god
I couldn't make this up if I tried,
But if you looked at the ground
The way you looked at me,
I promise you
At least four dozen flowers
Would have sprouted right up from the ground.
You were that magical.

But three months in,
And a bottle and a half of *****,
You hit me so hard,
That you left bite marks in my mind,
And scars on my heart composed of your fingerprints.

All the flowers have died.

The first comment
I received
a "*******"
with a smiley face
I laughed off
wouldn't you?
Kind of crazy
kind of creepy
put it away as some one
we all know.

The second comment
came
with the usual language refrain
I was a "hack"
my words were "dreck".
The disparaging words about
my dead mother
gave me pause to reflect.

The third comment and more
began to recall
information of past
faux pas
secret affairs
one or two personal pecadillos
never mentioned beyond
the
dialogues in my mind.
Embarrassing I know.

I, of course,
went to the home page
to see
if it was someone
known to me.

No identifying data
but a picture I remembered vaguely
from a past I didn't know.

The trolling continued
relentless I would say
pulled the plug
put up a block
but
wouldn't you know

The comments continued
to come into my dreams
brutal criticism
of
every move I made
the day finally arrived
when I realized

Alter personalities were shedding off of me
like
psychological psoriasis
They were
hitting the ground running
I was
finding poems
I didn't remember writing
clothes I never bought
People kept hugging me
I had never met before
they
knew me far to well
called me many names
none of which were mine.

The silence of my nights were broken
when I found myself
in my car on Highway 101
returning from where I did not know
with a smile on my face
illegal drugs in my pocket.

How did I get here?
How did we get there?
Where are we now?

Another account opened
on Hello Poetry
with an anagram of my name.

I find my days
getting shorter and shorter
it became clear
I had become the dream
The others
had become me.

I hate driving.

Sometimes when I am on the road I imagine what it would be like if I ran into a car coming the opposite direction. I would feel the glass of my windshield cutting into my skin, and feel my body being held prisoner by the seat belt.

Perhaps someone would come along and dramatically pull my from my burning car, and I would be rushed to the hospital and be drugged for a couple hours. I wonder if my family would cry.

I think that deep down, I just desperately want to experience the sway of power between life and death.

Trapped in limbo, I wonder if I finally would not feel any pain.

I wish I had a poetic way to describe the ache in my chest when I remember what it's like to have your lips on mine

or how it felt to intertwine our fingers

or maybe how my soul craved the sound of your drunken voice after a long night

maybe I can find a way to explain the feeling of the tattoos on your arms when you held me

or the curve in your side when you pinned me to the side of the van that one night

but I really don't have a clue where to start.