(alone, she says)
Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away
This is a funeral.
There are five things you notice.
(you've done this before)
He doesn't want to die.
(but that's nothing new)
It's very blue.
Go to sleep my baby
Close your pretty eyes
Angels up above you
Watching very closely from the skies
When you were fifteen, all scraped knees and bitter leftovers in the refrigerator, you dreamed of darkness.
What no one knows, no seems to realize, is this:
You were never afraid of the dark.
"Borrowed time," the waves whisper, up and down the shoreline. "Borrowed. Borrowed." A great sigh. "Borrowed time."
There are no goodbyes
for my dog who has died,
and we don't now and never did
lie to each other.
It even smells like her.
When you look in the mirror, when you look at the scar, when you dig in beneath your skin and pull out the fragments, you think:
(all is well)
Catch a falling star and put in your pocket
Never let it fade away
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day
You feel tired. Tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of loving. Being tired of all that comes with it. With life.
It's not a good place to be. You know that.
(borrowed, the waves had whispered; borrowed time)
You bare your throat. The blade slides upwards. You smile.
You were always one to take risks.
and once you were a little boy
and once you had a dream
and once you were a man
because, once, you had a gun
What you love will always hurt you.
In that last moment, you'll scream out. Your lips will part, and you'll scream aloud all the words and gasps and wails you never let yourself own. You'll scream
And then you'll be done.
Because you have no more firsts left. No more to give. No more to offer.
No more than just what you are.
Hey, says the voice in your head.
International rock star
That would make the pain go away
The last one standing at the bar
Is the dream that'll have to do for today
You never thought of yourself as a victim.
You hope, somewhere deep and secret that no one has yet managed to carve out of you, that you're right.
Because if you aren't, how the hell are you meant to live with that?
They all look so young.
They all look so old.
A clock is ticking but it's hidden far away
(I could do most anything to you)
Safe and sound, safe and sound
The face in the window, the voice in your ear, the ghost against your skin: it smiles and tells you to believe just that.
Maybe one day you'll crawl out from that hole in the wall. You'll blink up at the sun, at the clouds and the mist your breath makes in the air. You'll close your eyes, and you'll see their faces, together, against the skin of your eyelids.
(or, maybe, you'll just crawl back in)
Burned are our homes, exile and death,
Scattered the loyal men
Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath,
Charlie will come again
Once, when you were very young, you fell in love for the first and last time.
You were five, maybe six, and the air was chill and frosty. She had flaxen hair, thin fingers, and an even thinner smile. But her eyes.
Oh, God, her eyes.
You could spend your entire life looking into her eyes.
Don't, you want to say. Please, don't.
(wait for me)
An evil prayer rose to my lip
"Lord! This my soul's relief,
To hold her slender hands in mine,
And know her secret grief."
They clean your wounds, tape your ribs, wrap you up in a blanket. They tell you to sit here and stay put and not to try to leave. You won't get away with it. Not this time.
Sit. Stay. Lie down. Take.
"You haven't slept."
Your heart is pounding in your throat. Overhead, the light is too bright. It's fluorescent and it hums and it's driving you crazy. You listen to high heels get up, walk away, come back.
"They're discussing tranquilizing you."
Let them, you want to say. You would make it sound uncaring, or maybe you'd make it sound vicious. But your heart is trying to crawl up out of your throat, and your jaw has locked up on itself, and you are
The needle in your neck is almost a relief.
(you are used to pain)
It drives me away
But it turns me on
Like a stranger's love
The man looks up, across the desk, and those eyes look nothing like hers.
(yet here we are again)