although 8:30 was phone time
i'd long lost the privilege to
twiddle the coil, treasure your smile
through the line
because i never hung up when i
was supposed to
**** the doctors, **** the
too-clean floors i should have ruined
just from walking, watching
everyone tuck hairs behind ears and
cradle plastic to their faces
families to their faces

9pm was medicine
whether i wanted it or not
(i didn't)
then bedtime
but i wouldn't drift until 10
and always on my left side
because there were three inches
of rustling and light
because i had to keep
that two-ton door cracked
because that was back
when nobody trusted me
to be alone or
to be at home, even
**** our parents, **** the
monsters in my head, mostly

but they'd fly in bed
and plot escapes
wondering if you'd aid and abet
if i ever asked
(i never did)

and i wouldn't count on anything
not for sanity, not to sleep
just the obnoxious things i used to
number
blinks and air duct rattles and goosebumps
compulsions got worse
(everything was getting worse)
but i'd been inpatient for months
i was bound to pick up
a few more quirks

i'd crawl
out of my assigned bed
to the desk
pick up the photo of that fennec
fox you raised at zookeeper's camp
(**** magnets
that aren't strong enough
to hold the good stuff)

but tinkerbell, was her name
tiny triangular angelic-looking thing
and you'd given me the t-shirt
last visitation
your uniform, a souvenir, a gift
(a life-line)

lime green and neon orange
and i never wore it
not there, not in that hospital
i kept those threads to myself
same as some of the girls
hid scissor blades and caffeine pills
and
i kept a secret, i kept wanting to feel
like a rebel again
(because god, that was something)
but it hurt me
like hell it hurt me
to feel sneaky without you
grinning beside me

and when i'd climb back in bed
it'd scar me
deeper than the contraband of the
other patients, probably
i'd bury my face in cotton
clamp my hands and
lips onto the holes
where your neck had been, your limbs
your sunburnt bones
and no matter how thick
that ******* wedding dress curtain was
the occasional head lights, brake lights
were like fireflies out there
and if i were lucky
i'd fall asleep like that, right then
imagining life going on
around the block i was trapped in

hoping, idly
you were
wrapped around one of my shirts
praying, finally
it wasn't getting damp
like yours was

just soft
like your hair, like your skin
like your heart
should always stay, has always been
(were the fireflies playing
outside your window then?)

oh the wallows
i'd shut my eyes so
tight i'd see colors
(and if i wasn't lucky, if it were
a screaming night, well
here is where they'd sedate me)
because i'd try to find you in all the
shades and shapes
because i had to remember, i had to say
goodbye buddy, just in case
because my throat would be raw and
my nose would be clogged and
my sheets, your shirt, would be hot
and slimy and salty and
sometimes it'd become a chore
to breathe
...
and sometimes
i'd fall asleep like that, at last
pretending i was drowning
drowning in the nearest thing i had
to the soul closest to mine
the shirt in which you spent
the summer of your life
(without me)
and you needed to
be the last thing
i'd see
...
but
like a bombshell
i'd wake
with nurses and clipboards and
giddy long-sleeved girls around me and
your shirt
limp in my arms, hardly even tearstained anymore
and i'd throw the covers off and
stuff my feet into some socks and
count the steps to the shower hall and
look forward to
attempting to
drown again
come 10 pm