Out
(From the collection I'm self publishing this year) It's becoming this thing you can't nudge away, nosing Its way around corners until you remember the ice of Its hands. You forget, forget. You try. It's nightlife and he's seeing a shattered windshield in an empty wine glass, he's seeing his own eyes, he's seeing her. It's a long night and you're seeing cracking tiles On the floor of someone else's bathroom, wet hair, dripping the smell of someone else's soap. Open the door and outside there's some happy scene. Open the door and the lights are all out. Open the door and it's some feeling you don't understand any more. Everything's the same as it's always been, you're just feeling it all backward. Open the door. "You could just," It whispers, creeping fingers. "Not like they'd notice." Everyone's feeling like themselves for the first time, maybe ever, crash landing into their bodies, but you've never felt more made up of someone elses. "Isn't being sad great," you say. "Seems like the worst thing in the world," he says. "Yeah, that too," you say. "Still here," It says, noses your ear. "I've got you." You remember.