Eventually my memory
will lament
in daydreams
//:.
that my pride
was dissolving in my bed,
//:.
that my solace
was pacing vehemently in my head,
//:.
that my martyrdom
was telling me I may recover,
//:.
that my return
was murmuring softly,
//:.
that my fury
was invading my hiding door,
//:.
that my frenzy
was stabbing at my scalp,
//:.

and perhaps my memory
will stutter
as always,
//:.


and I can stack my scabs again.

It was not her.
//
When she saw me hurting,
she knew it was not her.
//
When she saw me sobbing,
it was not her.
//
When she saw me choking on my breath,
//
when she saw me shaking in shock,
//
when she saw me screaming for an escape,
//
it was not her.
//
I cowered in my skin
and it was not her.
//
And when I was dying,
it was not her,
for once.
//
I stole away from her
her hands
and her broken rage,
//
her sorrow and terror,
her unwavering pain,
//
so that
for once,
she would
not
have to
hurt again.
//
I was so kind,
so for once,
//
it was not her.

They stand
like I almost did,
look like I almost do,
and speak like I almost have.
'=================='

But they walk from me,
leaving me ugly and bared by my ill name,
without any purchase in the words I have left,
'============================='

and they return to those
who waited for them
to just come back.
'==========='

They become
hurting and healing
in one fluid stroke,
forgetting about
the edge they have always
walked along.
'========'

They are ready to stand next to them
instead of me,
in my stead,
by my heart,
'======='

so I turn back to the mirror
and refuse to let
someone who
doesn't want
to be real again
walk away from me.

a seven hour vacation away from conscious life
a seven hour movie presentation
a seven hour time frame somewhere else

how funny it is
that back in 2002 we thought this was permanent
we thought our lives couldn't get any better than this

we were all so wrong
but very right
depending on various ideals

we didn't get the future we were promised
maybe that's a relief
or a panicked thought

no matter what year it is
i still have the same dream
the one i thought about for seven hours a day five days a week

a dream of my freshly washed hair
being dampened once more but by freezing rain
the impending feeling of doom

the goosebumps and standing hairs
the soft lights of the world grazing the snowy clouds
and for those few moments


i felt that i was the only person in the world