I ran from the room behind
my eyes, and overturned the beds in haste,
on the way out. Dear meó
I really want to right them; it bothers me
that they look messy, and that I didnít clean up
after myself, but
Iím not allowed to go there anymore, so
they must stay as is.
Someone else will fix them.
Itís fascinating, isnít itóthe I.V. that infused
me with your emotions and mindsets; it still
hangs, waiting for me, or perhaps another
I wondered ďWhat ifÖ..?Ē and pulled it from
my vein, and it didnít bleed.
I forgot how to bleed.
I did my duty. I told my heart that
it was just the excitement of love, each
time it jumped into my throat at
the sound of you opening the
garage door. My bowels sank, too,
when you came up the stairs, ready
for the required run-down on my day.
I learned to tell you what you wanted to hear.
Then one day, your maggots
ate a small sliver in the door, and light came in,
and shone on what was really there in the dark,
Stygian depths beneath the scab of our home.
It all makes sense, now, but I waited
a little longer to be sure I had you
in a place where you couldnít
worm out of, without
being exposed. You hate exposure.
Itís ugly like Hitler, and he kept
I used my key, and burst through
the doors that looked made of steel, but
were only gauze; transparent, fragileó
I had the key all along, but never new it.
Let the beds, lie; someone else can make them
and clean up
the remnants of my departure, as
a refugee within my own life.