( e )melancholia

Copyright 2012 - 2016 Emelancholia, All rights reserved.

[couchsitter]

377

Run, tell me, run tell him, go, tell her, spin the bottle, close your eyes wait for the press of lips to catch her by surprise. Tell me, no, no, no heart, please don’t Run, fingers through my hair, scent of musk and taste of pear. Tell him, lies, Run, open up your eyes, tell her, please soft and gentle as if we’re elemental All I see is All he sees is All she knows. tell her, tell him I won't, Run Run Run. Tell her.

[couchsitter]

376

Wild fox, wild flower, wild hair, wild heart. A spirit born in summer never meant to cool.

[couchsitter]

375

As I took a seat aside her, the chair new, the room sterile. I realized the calmness of my drumming fingers simply added to the annoyance of her clicking keys. Stark, white, and chrome fixtures. It was like being alive inside a coffin and somehow blissfully unaware of it. Clearing her throat, without a glance in my direction she asked, "So, how is everything?" I thought a moment of her question. Honing in on her use of "so" rather than the omnipotent term of "everything" I supposed those small add-on's like but and yet and dreaded so only eluded the anxiety of asking another what they were really feeling. Sort of like with Charlie when he, in mid-sentence, 2 months before said: "...but we can remain good friends." and Harriet who had been my only confident stood beside him. arm wrapped around his added: "Yet, not so friendly it becomes complicated." There was nothing logical about him or her or myself standing in a semi circle after I walked in on those two fucking. Charlie was my boyfriend. Harriet was my best girl friend since primary school and myself in this equation? I was simply just a fool. The sound of an impatient foot tapping and another unpromising throat clearing beckoned me from my thoughts. "Thank God." I muttered. "What?" She asked. "Oh, nothing." The little words. Those two or three lettered demons. We all took care to use them like they were our verbal weapons except I was here in this closet of a room with a woman I didn't know and the scent of antiseptic mixed with salt water syringe stung my throat. "So, how is everything Ms._________" and I didn't have to think at all. Instead I answered "To be honest horrible. Every year that's gone by and I grow older someone dies that I loved or gave a fuck about. Friends disappear into marriages, denial, or educational facilities abroad and myself? Well, here I am, in hospital, still empty, sad, and unsure how to find a balance between contentment and resentment. I tell myself I am fine when I am not. I think about death like its a drug because I don't know to live. I don't know how to love. I don't know who I am and I'm exhausted. So...." and I paused, "What can you do for me Mrs._______" Her fingers raced across the keys of her computer. Their relentless tapping becoming nothing more then a hum in my ears. She wouldn't stop, refused too really until at last my words, mingled with her own thoughts caught up to each other. She took a moment to straighten her sleeves and clear her throat for the third time. I swore under my breath about it and thankfully she didn't notice. "Well..." She began and at that moment time stopped I could see my own life clearly among the trash collected by myself: shit friends, shit lovers, shit parents, shit strangers, shit, shit, shit, shit!! It didn't matter. My life, my present or future. It didn't matter and I didn't care. I stood up, unsure if she continued or paused walked towards the door and entered the hall. Above me signs flickered: enter, exit and signs for A12-18 along with B6-12 were painted in thick, black, letters. I could go back into the world the way I was or I could stay here in hospital and become more unstable. Both options seemed inconceivable. Behind me I could hear throat clearing, heel stomping, and fumbled assistance button pushing amid cursed slurs. Soon I would be carried back to a room as stark, white, and chrome filled as her office. I didn't want to go. I couldn't but as I struggled toward the front desk staff that lie safely behind a sheet of plexiglass. My palm came to slam against it before being ripped away. I can't go back. I won't go back. I thought I had thought but was really screaming until the scent of salt water mixed with God knows stung my throat and nose. Click, click, tap, stomp, shit, shit, shit...I can't...I...and the world fell away. 3 hours or 3 days from now in a place where time ceased to exist within the myriad of little words like yet, but, well, and so. I was already deceased. The proverbial coffin I had imagined prior to the litany of everything had been closed and the darkness masked the stark, white, chrome and the scent of anything but myself and for the first time in 30 years I could feel the beginnings of a genuine smile where "nothing" was the "everything" and peace became my soul. Here, there was no light, no tunnel, no deity, just empty space to float and no one to ask me.... "So..."

[couchsitter]

374

In another life we could be: The answer. The cure. The refuge for shelter. Heaven. A used bookstore on Main Street. The scent of European coffee. The kiss that lingers in winter. Birds on a wire constantly chatting. Music quietly playing. Old cars stalling on the street. Love. Kindness. Unconditional empathy. This could all come to pass by Two hands clasping. In this life.

[couchsitter]

373

The sink is full, our house empty and we are both the same. Idle hands desperate for washing the stuck on bits on dinner plates. What plagues me so is this void no good at all for it keeps me ill. Until at once I am starving off the temptation too fill and fill and fill. The spoons have talked their vapid chatter rattling with knives and forks. The water runs in the washroom both gone back to darkened drawers. This is our cycle to be vacant but to want so much we binge the swill. The bath is ready, I lie in it naked waiting for my thoughts to still. the butter knives where put away but a steak knife runs across my wrist. I feel so much yet feel so little and night falls softly upon pale lids. Full but empty yet, Somehow...just the same.

[couchsitter]

372

She died in 2003 with her innocence and high-school degree. There was nothing left. She could do no more and she wouldn't let the weight of the future control her. So, she said 'goodbye.'

[couchsitter]

371

Perhaps, there was a time when the morning wasn’t so grim. Where I awakened wide eyed, and things fell softly into place. like the drawing of breath into my lungs, a simple act easily forgotten until it’s quite difficult to make. I’ve made that mistake. taking for granted the process because my throat aches when I barely speak and my joints crack when I hardly move and the earth spins like they all go on Just for the grief in the morning and my lack of wanting more than heavy lids that barely lift stiff and stuck to a life never lived I've been here always unsure when time will stop moving and I will

[couchsitter]

370

How much longer must I? pull the darkness from my soul that cries out for shelter, to be brought to light. I see eyes, many eyes all the same color coals extinguished by smoke, Find my own sometimes two dull blue flames fluttering among the ashes black as the iris but pitch like the night. Against all odds still looking up. As if heaven on earth meant living in piles of wood all cut, heavy burdens stacked upon itself. I see him. I see her. I see myself. and I think, least I believe I would think “How much longer must I?” I’ve grown, tired, empty, clawing for worth to be put in this heap of “outlived” kindling while time goes on swindling more, more, more! Up in flames like most days I think…how much longer? Perhaps, earth is the hell we fear.

[couchsitter]

369

Every night it’s the same.

Pitch black, the world swallowed.

All the trees in a riot, pushing and pulling.

They beat at each other like steel fists,

but the roof never caves in on itself.

I lie still in my stronghold

Awake.

Never struggling in the shadows, 

that tangle with me.

Their hands are the darkness

yanking at covers, strangling

the words and the muscles

until I split in two.

Two parts of a person lost 

in this world and the next,

and yet, I’ve died multiple times at best

Dragging me silently by the ankles

I’ve given up

and let them have what they’ve wanted.

To those like myself, 

it doesn’t matter at all.

I don’t know who I am

ever since it happened.

I don’t know if I can ever recover

who I was before and to become

a new version of myself is

unattainable.

I’ve been devoured by devilry force.

I was its main course

and there is no hope for

Two parts severed.

Halved.

Unsure.

Both have been pronounced

Dead on arrival.

[couchsitter]

368

you were my everything and for a time that was enough even now it still is when I know I mean nothing to you. I guess I'm stupid. Hanging on like a child would an insignificant loss like no ice cream for bad behavior, no last ride at the carnival for straying off but it's easier to admit to myself how incredibly selfish I am waiting for someone who will never give a damn because you are the Ferris wheel spinning round till I'm sick and the sweetest thing I cursed my parents out for just too much, too quick. You are everything.

[couchsitter]

367

You’ll only see what I let you. You won’t ever know who I am. I’ll only show what is proper You’ll only go by the smallness of my hands. If I can’t hold onto water dripping down from your tap. What makes you think I’d ever stutter or stammer or know anything I thought you’d laugh at? I long for the days when I may close my tired eyes never once thinking I should have to memorize You. You. You. I love… Fleeting like shadow when the sun decides a chase. I yearn for the kindness of your welcoming face but No. That’s what I’m told… No. You must be alone! No.

This is not what you want, they say.

Back this winter. The coldest one yet. I wish for summer to dry up all this wet but Spring’s mischievous glow begins to wipe away all of my woe and over Robbin’s Hill I see You. You. You….again. but you’ll never know so… Maybe next time When I cannot hide and love can see me

[couchsitter]

366

Among scattered houses, she stands in the bitter cold. Striking – the wind that passes, a beauty within the snow. Where smoke unfurls in wilderness from chimney fire and warm breath. A world that changes in an instant once tapestry now, blank canvas. What darkness waits to swallow whole she devours rightly so for light is hidden inside her coat at the ready of – Falling quick upon their roofs Flush with Summer’s spinning hoop of heat and rose and weeping willow tree All gone, instantaneously. There they are within her reach carried by the doves that stove each tiny flake unique on their own but terribly, hard to keep. Like a devil kissing an Angel’s cheek. It cannot stay, not here nor memory. So, at the ready of herself she says, the magic words that quell our heads, All lost within a single second “Love?” Gone. in an instant.

[couchsitter]

365

The rain falls in prominent sheets each split and cut into irregular droplets. Inside, we gather unsure of the consequence. All is drowning but at least we can swim. All is drowning but even swimmers float. All is within this storm but we perish the same. Outside, the tapping on rooftops and windows is the small death of those who fall into this world without arms to catch them. They're busy safely watching inside.

[couchsitter]

364

My hands are empty. My treasures all spent. I do not have the worth for all that I've lent. I've squandered my diamonds and bartered my gold all for the warmth of half hearted souls. They tell in kindness. How they'll never go but I in such blindness should have known this cold in my blood mistaken for what? Other then... I am never enough. I know I am never enough but what can I give? My house is vacant. My hope chest filled with air and the last I've heard from you was... 'I never cared if she was there.'

[couchsitter]

363

I thought I could cover myself in the night and forget. Yet, time is no stranger to me. We pass by each other but it's there in our eyes in this bed where we lie never once whispering. Staring me down it's invisible brow Time makes only one sound Tic Tic Ticking and I'm tearing apart like I won't feel the pain I don't want the dark Tic Tic Ticking. No eye to the keyhole Just a locked door with Me and the monster holding me down You're fine You're fine and I, terrified Like a bird that can't sing I only hear Tic Tic Ticking I thought I could Escape this night but time takes its arms and holds close to me never once whispering only Tic Tic ticking away.

[couchsitter]

362

The loose gravel we fell onto as kids is embedded deep under our skins. Sinking into the drops of blood from our knees and our chins. We remember how painful it was since We now carry their heaviness. Just burdens, just secrets no pearls of wisdom for the children grown up too keep it. Fingernails in my arms, hair pulled taut, broken charm. Now, I never wear braids where she can see them because I don’t want too recall the pain of being one in five children. Pump your legs, jump right off, You’ll fly if you want. They say this to trick you. It’s a lie. No one will catch you.

[couchsitter]

361

There is nothing idyllic 

about this landscape

full of uneven curves, lumps, and bruises.

You know “bad-looking shapes.”

Perhaps,

I am crooked

like my Aunt’s faux Dega,

my nose broke as a child

maybe,

Picasso rather than

Edgar’s ‘Dancers in Blue’

in her hall.

I will never be slender.

I will never have grace.

I will never be lovely.

So, I beg you, 

Heavenly Father,

wipe this slate.

I want to be talented

with a dear, little waist

and arms as long as a

gazelle’s antlers

tell me,

it isn’t too late

but it is.

I was hers and his

molded

by

You.

You.

You.

but I am not immaculate.

I am hideous.

I am flawed.

I am ignorant with too

sharp of a jaw.

Now, what do I do?

If I am an image ‘made in You’

He says,

“Art is not what you see, 

but what you make others see.”

So, you make me the joke?

with the figure of a manatee?

I want thin.

I want pretty.

I want long.

I want lithe.

I want talent.

I want cunning,

Not this disgusting, foul,  heap.

but I guess I deserve this

for being ungrateful.

This was the fate

for

cain and abel.