It's Thursday
If it were Wednesday
It would be the same
again, you are not here
So,
     I think to call someone else
and have regrettable ***
and forget you for a night
but I don't
I'm tired of it
I'll be alone
So,
I think I'll sit by myself
drink
    and talk to the gods
they don't exist
but they are nearer than you

The sky is the color you see when you close your eyes. Not quite black, just dark. It was nice, the way you looked at me when I was calm. How your smile caressed your eyes, your shoulders seemed to relax. The flowers I planted never grew; they must've been too weak, consumed by the earth. I watch happy people and realize how shallow they are. They space out and talk about their favorite tv shows and worry about stains on their shirts. My fingers are strangely shaped: they curve in and out, thinner than normal. But somehow they fit perfectly with yours, straight and perfect, always oil-stained and callused. I remember when I draped my arm across your chest and felt the scars on your shoulder. How they were arranged in such a familiar pattern. I traced them so carefully and read the word 'fear'. I wish I didn't write about you. I wish I didn't write at all. I know the smell of my mother's perfume. It reminds me of the times she came home and I ran to her after hours of waiting restlessly. Now it chokes me and creates a lump in my throat, tears in my eyes. No one's voice could ever fade in the background yet be heard so clearly except yours; a piano ballade in a distant room. We spend so much time trying not to take things for granted that we end up taking things for granted, for granted. "I ruined the flower you gave me. I didn't mean to," you said to me. It's been three years, and I feel like the flower.

We made nests in clocks
that Summer the electricity died.
Stars rose out of the ether for the first time in centuries.

Autumn rolled in
but it only grew hotter.
We climbed on rooftops to escape the heat of our homes
and saw the silhouettes of strangers follow.

Winter choked the freeways, the subways, the old ways.
Rust fell on us like rain.
We danced in the belly of an abandoned ship
cheeks burning with mirth.

By Spring
the plants had withered
and the animals had slept until their bodies devoured their souls.
We sat on the town hall as the sun engulfed the sky
Thankful for such a beautiful life.

Life's not laundry.
Don't separate
The colours
From the whites.

Sometimes your voice sounds like rain beating heavy on a galvanized roof.
Sometimes I feel like I can hear the sadness pouring from your mouth like a rainstorm in the middle of the night.
You tried hard to swallow it, hide it beneath your tongue;
when you laugh you pretend it doesn't sound like thunder and howling winds,
You've flooded my home many times, my dear.
Sometimes I feel like I can hear the sadness,
the sadness pouring from your mouth like a rainstorm
in the middle of the night.

On nights like these
I thought that I was doing fine
Just when I could love again
It's a pity, you're not mine

On nights like these
I wish to hear your voice  
Yet, I couldn't
Not by choice

I am
Nothing more
Than a bag of bones.
My rib cage
Is a prison you rend
In twain, tear the mesh,
And sift fruitlessly through.
I am
An empty shell
You discarded;
All unraveled ends
And frayed edges.
I am
Orange peels
Carrying the essence
Of something sweet
As an echo of scent
And color-
-I will
Return to the earth
And start again.

To have all you've known tumble down
You're sole existence starts to drown,
You're watching as you hold your breath
Count to ten and try to forget

Forget your worries and your woes,
Life's unpleasantries, all you know
You know nothing, not any more
You watch the slowly closing door

It's closing right before your eyes
You've lost the keys, there's no sunrise
Closing in, surrounded by dark
Darkness consumes your breaking heart

It beats one less than once before,
You hold it tight and hope for more
Pain you feel is out of this world
Hope that someone undoes the spell

The spiders web that's spun for you,
You're fighting, trying to get to
The place once loved, you thought you knew
Too scared to trust, too scared to move

You're slowly crawling through the dusk
In hope that soon you're good enough,
Enough to walk back to your home
To open arms - the ones once known



© Karen L Hamilton, 2013