a flutter of butterfly's wings,
of soft gray skies.
hours that mattered and
moments that didn't.

it was all a matter of time,
she said,
of swinging ropes and pain that cut too deep
(and empty calories that couldn't)
the way the words grazed my throat
in an empty cry for help
black lips and cold smiles and
the reminder that
this is your life, what are you still living for?
(if anything at all)
it was fear, night after night after
helpless night
unanswered worry that went unsaid
like a cry in the dark
i stumbled around, tugged at the ropes
holding the drawstring doors together and begged for a way in
a shot in the dark against a litany of
cruel words that taunted and burned hot
against already singed skin

night after night after
helpless night

like clockwork,
routine becomes necessary:
the way the farmers created
daylight savings to strengthen their
crop rotation and sow the fields the way they
pleased, i searched and looked and
waited for reason.
waited for the impending realization so i
wouldn't have to discover it myself

and god was i scared.
we always seemed to be scared back then,
afraid of the monsters we created
so we wouldnt have to run ourselves
up the walls.
afraid of parents and test scores and the
fruit guy on the corner
whose gaze always lingered too long.
a series of firsts upon
a foundation of lasts.
the secrets exchanged,
the mouths held wide open,
the pills on the bathroom floor that glowed
invitingly.

i was helpless to the power it held.
negatives balanced upon negatives and
torn in two, jagged along the seams.
both of us screaming in silent voices
from places that couldn't produce words.
the hug i gave you the day
after it happened
(for the first time
or the second
or maybe the third)

the nights i cried.
the nights you cried.
the nights you called me and i had to hold
the phone far enough from my ear that your
voice only held a range of tangible static.
the bitter
the hurt
the wounded
the way you were all of them and
none of them, both at once.
the screams.
the times i didn't pick up.
the times i should have.
the times you forgave me and
the times i forgave you even when there was
nothing to forgive.
the thanks you always bid to me.
the goodbyes i always said with silent hope
that another hello would live to see
the light of day.

night after night after
helpless night.
susceptible to the
power it held.