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Margaret Jean Aug 23
I’m sitting in the bathroom (again)
Is this where I go to hide now?
I guess.
I’m here, hiding
Aren’t I?

I’ve just arrived
It’s the first night, and I
Was so excited to go
And finally be downstairs
Wasn’t I?

But here I am, once again
Hiding in a ******* bathroom
Clinging to a pillow
Wishing it could cling back
Shouldn’t I?

Be downstairs? Yeah, probably
I was so **** ready
Eager, to be here
I’ve been here twice already
Haven’t I?

In theory, yes, my body
Has been, physically, in this space
But, so was someone else’s
The first time, he was here
Can’t I?

Move on from then and be here, now
Yeah, definitely
But then I realize
Won’t I?

Think of the second time
He was here, not physically
But, in spirit, fictionally
He was gone yet present
And I?

I am here now, for the third time
But he’s not here
Physically, fictionally - presently
Only in my mind
Will I?

Learn how to love these moments
With you no longer in mind
Pillows and sheets that cling back
Now just memories _
I -

I’ll ask them all downstairs
But tonight,
I’ll stay in this bathroom - it’s nice  
Towels, right next to me
So many of them

Thrice, I’m thankful

Martin Narrod Apr 2014
Your colors are so heavy, how dare I, I cannot sleep. Years inundated under, through skin coils, marigold fields. Yellow crocuses, orange California poppies. Moors of cattle ranchers, yokes of oxen. Plasticine uber-confidence, silky white-skinned testubular thrice people harmonies. Blisses of contagion, contagious bliss. Wrists and incisors, tying down in a bedroom, waking up to live harps and choruses. You dance like you're so alive, but I'm so alive I can't dance. Or breathe. Or knead my fists of earthen wears, or sell my soul completely. I drove off a cliff last night, but the four foot fall ended neatly. The plateau authors my chance to sew my bright, beyond- my fortunes. But the hour before I fall asleep, seems to be the greatest torture.

— The End —