i am drowning.

the work is becoming me.

i am not living
moment to moment
but task by task. my phone is
a long list of numbers and names,
and they all need me now,
now, now,
and yesterday and tomorrow,
but i rank them,
because life is a long
list of ranking and doing,
but the ranking is a chore
already, and i get tired,
my feet sink up to
the **** of my ankle,
and i'm no further ahead
than i was before,
the same spot, just
a few inches lower,
a few pounds heavier.

i am in no condition
to write.
so i smoke, i
let the spirit run
all through me,
and through him,
i find the second
mask of mine that
loves to write letters.

i am drowning
in letters.

the list swells,
shifts, squirms
in my hand.
every screen begs
me to write to it.
and everyone's got
a different medium,
language, favor,
passion and preference.

i am thanking and apologizing.
i am scheduling and dismissing.
i am losing steam trying to
wear all these hats; i
am sinking, i
am sinking, i am
sinking, i am sinking,
i am fifteen people at
once, all singing and
stepping on themselves,
i am so noisy, and grateful.
i am so sickeningly small.

i am drowning.
i am grateful. i
am swelling; i am
building an image;
i am becoming. it
is so uncomfortable.

it is night when i finally
sit to paint. these are the
things that sell and yet i
feel so much like a glass
jar already stuffed full
of change. nothing to
show for it yet though.
so i put the
ink in a big
circle on the
canvas and i
crawl inside it
and it is warm
and soft and
unforgiving
and it doesn't
expect a thing
from me but
color.

an accidental intimacy is committed
between the right-now me
and the me-a-few-minutes-ago
as i slip onto my body,
(made cold by the air of the room,)
the warmest shirt i have ever felt,
soft and hot with the heat of
my own body
that i had already forgotten.

two me's converge, here.
i wrap my arms around myself.

i forgive my old self for all he has done to me
yesterday
because look what he would do for me
today,
he would keep himself warm
so that one day he would be cold
so that one day i could pick this hot shirt up
and wear it.

we waltz, we dance,
until the heat calms under the fan,
and then we are just one man
and i catch myself missing him.

taking the trash out one night,
i begin to fantasize about my own disappearance.

with the way it's raining, loud against the
metal of the house,
of the car,
of the little, singing bud in my ear,
i think to myself,
i don't think anyone would have seen this coming.

i find my place between the mazda and the bins,
walk there to the beat of this song which sounds
so much like an insistentlyapproaching bootfall,
and the bag is heavy as i swing it up and in,
and i return inside for the second.

right, the second.

i think about the documentary after i'm gone,
when they do the re-enactment.

and he walked inside again, mom will say and
dab at her eyes, for the second bag. i saw him, saw him go.

out of focus, the false me will wooshslowmotion with
a grocery bag of scraps around her and out the door
and then he will be gone forever
and he will have been taken so much for granted
and he will have incredible ratings.

this bag is smaller.
it takes no effort to toss,
and i latch the lid of the bin closed
with bungee rope like needy restraints
and i slip through the gate,
unfollowed,
close it behind me,
untaken,
up the steps beneath the awning which shouts
with rain,

and when i enter the house,
it is empty and sleeping
and dark and nothing.
there is no one to miss me in here.

well yeah man, it's like-
you take a drag, inhale.
your eyes sink and i watch your lips
part slightly and let out a trail of smoke
but your words get lost in my mouth
because i sit up and kiss you
it's sort of slow and feverish
and i climb in your lap and chase it
automatically like a moth to a flame
twisting i almost smile, i lick your teeth
-like this ? i not quite growl
you forgot everything but this moment
but you nod anyway
and i see some indescribable want or need
some days i can't tell the difference
i guess i like you like me
i watch you sit and smoke
every breath you seem a little farther
when you're done you grab me
pull me away into your room
i lie on the bed and taste incense
you look back as music plays
then join me silently and pull me on top
i rest over you like a misshapen blanket
and you get too hot
you look so far gone deep out in space
floating somewhere under me
your eyes glazed and our thighs
it must feel so great to be treated like this
someone to keep you safe
and do anything you say
and selfishly i tried making you mine
but your and my bruises healed
sometimes i wish they had stayed

you will never understand how much i hate myself.
how my throat collapses and closes in on itself.
and how tired i am. this aching body is an empty vessel.
sometimes my veins still ache to bloom red roses.
i put my headphones on and the whole world becomes a drone.
a blur of colors and half assed dreams bleeding together.
do you remember that january night in the snow?
we held each other close so we breathed the same smoke.
rosy cheeks and ripe noses, gray eyes and frozen toes.
someday, maybe soon, i'll choose to go through my skin.
by way of rope or knife, i'm not quite sure yet. but it will be scarlet.
my white tissue paper sliced and torn apart by your fingers.
my favorite time of day is any time spent with you.
your arms are home to me, and my heart rots inside out.
i want to scream far and wide into the cold dark sea.
and drown in your recycled oxygen, kneel at your feet.
i will never be more than a kicked dog, a hollow corpse.
oh darling, don't cry for me, this is how it's supposed to be.