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Image for the poem Coffee covered linen

Coffee covered linen

When I first met you, you waited
behind a pile of linen in the room next to mine,
and when you thought you were alone,
I saw you lay down on top of it.
You breathed in the scents of clean and fresh,
pressing the bile of desolation into your pores.

And from that day on
everything under the sun and moon
made me sad
even the blue water beads
that slid and spun along with the dulness of rain
against the windows.

You taught me to exist without gratitude.
You ruined my manners toward God:
"We're here simply to wait for death;
the pleasures of earth are overrated."

How could I ever imagine those words
would ever come out of the mouth
of such a pretty face?

I only appeared to belong to my myself, you know.
To live among paper and cotton undershirts with strings;
among red tin lunch boxes and rejection notes
in ugly white slipcases.

They told me my voice wasn't for the masses
Either way I was yours against any urges.
Your blue and pink and white little pills.

The coated ones smell sweet or have no smell;
the powdery ones smell like the chemistry lab at school
that made me hold my breath.

You wouldn't be so depressed if you really believed in God
like you once said you do.

Often I go to bed as soon after dinner
as seems mature.
Although, I mean, I try to wait for dark
in order to push away from the massive pain in sleep.
But the dark is terrifying when it hurts.

Once, when we were laying on the floor
not caring for the aftershocks of the colourful pills,
I thought
that I was a speck of light in the great river of light
that undulates through time.
I was like that because of you.

I was floating with the whole family of stars.
We were all colours,
those who are living now,
those who have died,
those who are not yet born.

For a few moments I floated, completely calm,
and I no longer hated having to exist.
But I broke.

Was I broken before too?

Like a crow who smells hot blood
you came flying to pull me out
of the glowing stream.

"I'll hold you up.
I'll never let you drown."

"Please.
Breathe."

After that, I wept for days
because I knew you lied.

They searched until they found me upstairs,
clutching on my knees
trembling with need and sleep deprivation.
I lied down with a clatter of elbows,
someone put his head on my shoulder.

Where were you then?
Did you hear me cry?
Do you feel regret?
Do you feel anything?

Sometimes the sound of your breathing
saved my life.
In and out, in and out; a pause, a long sigh.

Pieces of burned flesh
wore my clothes, spoke in my voice,
dispatched obligations haltingly, or not at all.
I guess it was tired of trying to be warmhearted,
tired beyond measure.

We move on.

Day and night I felt as if I had drunk six cups
of coffee, but the pain stopped abruptly.
With the wonder and bitterness like someone pardoned
for a crime he did not commit
I come back to life outside us,
to pink colored hollyhocks.
I come back to my desk, books, and chair.

Pharmaceutical wonders are at work
but I believe only in this moment of well-being.

Those eyes on such a pretty face
you are certain to come again.

I imagine, you'll put your feet on the coffee table,
lean back, and turn me into someone
who can't take the trouble to speak;
someone who can't sleep, or who does nothing but sleep;
can't read, or call for an appointment for help.
Because the relief from pain is addicting.

There is nothing I can do
against your coming.
When I wake, you're still with me.

High and up with light I wake at four,
waiting greedily for the first note of the rush.
Air presses through the screen
with the wild, complex song of the bird,
and I'm overcome by not feeling regret.

What hurt me so terribly all my life until this moment?
How I love the small, swiftly beating heart of the bird
singing in the after-high mornings.
Will you tell me to breathe when I brake again?
Written by ivanagasparic
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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