1121

Time does go on—
I tell it gay to those who suffer now—
They shall survive—
There is a sun—
They don’t believe it now—

.......................


What's that?

Oh... Nothing.


The truth is not an option.


Oh god.

Not again.


That silent phone, distracted eyes.

Thinking about what I've said to...


No. The truth is not an option. I wish it was.


This route just feels familiar now.

There's nothing to look forward to.

But, well...


The truth is not an option.


No. You're right.

But...

I don't know, perhaps it is.



The truth is not an option.


Ok, so what?


Nothing.


Just

say

nothing.

They asked us to write a poem
in class
I thought about my B2 yellow pencil
and the way it used to
move easily

It was like if my words
would flow submerged in a labyrinth
and come up to breathe now and then
to show off in front of my face
that I would never place them in paper again

I knew I had to find another source of thoughts
and I asked
I was told that they'd seen my poem
hidden in dead end streets and alleys
where most of the best stories
go to die

they told me that Vincent Van Gogh
used the street as his canvas
and that Nicholas Copernicus found his passion
within the streets of a starry sky

I found my poem
with a case of severe amnesia
lost in an alley
snooping between the leftovers
of the things that he once saw me living

He said he got lost
a few months ago
when he started to feel unwelcomed
around me

I convinced him to go back home
and fed him
and asked him to return to my hands
or at least
to let me place him in paper

But he decided to leave
he grew arms and legs
and kicked down my door
and he was gone again

I knew there that everything that comes back
never does it not even as remotely
as how it was

and I'm here thinking
why did he leave again?

I think he found his color and shape
in the streets
far
too faraway
from me

this,
this is what relapse feels like.
sore knees, aching smiles,
bruised shins,
heart's been beating too fast,
afraid to tell mom and dad.
close the door, turn the shower on,
and bow to your master.
shove it down, get it out,
"i'm so tired, **** i'm so tired."
"keep going, keep going,
i promise it'll all be worth it."
my brother is only two rooms away,
but this,
this is the epitome of loneliness.
flush it down, unlock the door,
get out.
and start again.

this,
this is what relapse looks like,
teenage girl with a plastered grin,
this time she's letting everyone in,
maybe she really does have to use the bathroom,
smile, smile, smile, she's full of hate.
"i'm so happy, **** i'm so happy.
recovery is going great."
rip apart the meal plan, swallow nothing but words,
they won't find out this time,
i won't let them find out.
my brother is two rooms away,
but i,
i am the most introverted extrovert.
a master of disguise, pulling the
wool over your eyes.

it's not me, i swear it's not me.
it's not me, i swear it's not me.

i haven't been me in a while.

"I've been having trouble sleeping"
I explain.
"I get headaches.
I'm nauseous. I can't eat.
I've lost weight.
A lot of weight."
He nods, still staring at the computer.
"Here hurts"
I point to my rib cage, poking out through my t-shirt.
He glances at me and types some more.
All the while my head is spinning
And I can feel the blood rushing up to my head
then back down again.
I feel weak.
"I think I may need to change my dosage."
"Mhm, mhm."
He nods again.
The printer roars to life.
"Take this twice every morning and once at night. These are for the headaches, don't take more than one every 8 hours, and only when necessary. Take this before bed, it should help with the - "
And then, just as he held up the fourth piece of paper,
I saw the carpeted floor rush up to meet me.
And just like that,
I was gone.
And the worst of it all,
is that I did this to myself.
And he knew it.

It takes a minute to hear your voice.
To place a dream and waking willingly apart.
I turn and search for a rectangle device
That's been left burning all night.
"Wake up baby"
Electric sounds.
I turn and curve at his gravitational sound.
Lift it in my hands to see
My waking love
Waking me.
I should worry about radiation
That's pouring into me.
But he's worth the worry
Just to see.
"Tell me all about your dreams"
Still foggy I comply
And let the poison drip out of me.
He moves from room to room
And he carries me.
While I lay in bed and follow.
"How many eggs? 4 or 6?"
And I make a choice for his nutrients.
5 isn't right cause it's uneven.
46 is way too much.
I choose a moment and smile at him
While he stirs the contents of his cup.
A glance from clocks to me
Debating on wether he should leave.
"Don't be late or stay with me?"
But staying means more radiology.
I fall in step with his morning routine
Without ever moving from my waking scene.
I kiss the screen and he kissed me
Voicing love so lovingly.
Reconnecting every morning.
I'm sure it easy when he's snoring
To let the device burn all till morning.
I fell asleep with his face in my hand
Though, I could not touch and I could not grab.
"I call you when I'm driving back. I'll see you later on tonight. I love you, sweety. Have a good day"
And then we wave and press a red button to start our usual days.
And never moving once,
The pillows I bury my face in go flat.
I dare not fall back to sleep.
Because on my device he might message back.