I wrote this in April or May 2009. More appropriate now than at the time of writing, I re-post. More important than protecting family members from worry is that perhaps someone can relate.
Whisper No More
slightest brush; weightless breath; uncalculated bump
unequivocally pinned by your wit
you whisper into my heart,
the rush so doomed for future pain, yet perfect in the moment
the long-awaited quenching
hallucination of haldol. what congenial fantasy is this?
must I near metaphorical suicide to prove this faith to a manufactured demigod of love
the fool, as the haze hales capricious clarity, is it I whose image the reflection reveals?
must I confess these celestial spheres to be my own contrived paradise?
reveal this reality’s true construction
for I have misread for what I want to see
the unadulterated reciprocation
your defense? superfluous still in the face of my present misinterpretation.
pain pours disproportionately promptly from this point of perpendicular pleasure
genuine sincerity, obligatory congeniality, visceral courage –
what drug must rush your veins, how heavy the wrecking ball!
god let something inside of you give you the empathy to hold this stare
for I need you to pull this sting from me.
my trust in you escapes with every throbbing beat
yet this magnet pushes for a compatible fit.
You relay the radioactive decay of this precarious bond with no peculiar dismay.
I will not disobey the script of this twisted ballet with me cast as your prey.
the returned stare I once yearned for.
try to find me; I promise I am there.
the fog clears; a homecoming for deceit is revealed.
recognize it? touch it. cold and inflexible is stares back.
is it I? no.
it is you who stares back. alone in the mirror.
no me to temper the stigma.
stare back into me and the mirror will crack.
But will this bad luck ever truly bring me back?
