i have rules for these things
as these memories over take me
as the sun creeps up, talons ablaze
and my sleep breaks and my heart along with it
again and again and again
and i open, laboriously,
an eye to meet him.
what a gift it is to
wake in the face of fear.

i have rules for these things 
and memories to forget.
but grief will always be there
swinging its blind head
towards the terror-stricken faces.

its what happens in that second
larger than hell or heaven
than the laws of motion
like the spiders in this basement
simply crawling backwards
not really knowing.
not really growing or spinning
like me. like me just sitting here
amongst the webs 
a decimated, unexonerated
corpse.

its funny how they all crowd around
the most intimate of pieces
like that blue pair of *******
stained with blood but they
like I
know not whose.
nights turn to day and day to
dusk
and i am still in his basement.

i have rules for these things.
these ******* and that bra 
those ***** sheets and tumultuous dreams.
is that what they are?
in one i am chained at the ankles
in another intertwined with him,
as if I wanted it, you can practically
hear my cries.
you decide from what.

I have rules for these things.
and this stays shut.