Black fog

for C

It's the second day I've been home. I still haven't eaten,
Simply cannot afford to. I do get some rest the night before.
When I wake up I feel hopeful, like I want to promise myself
I'm going to try to make it as good as I can, spend the day
Finishing up paperwork for going back to school. I'm still
Hungry and selfish for a second chance. But my daughter has
Crept into my room in the middle of the night and stolen
My cigarettes and my wallet. I remember the furious etch of rage
On her face when she looked me straight in the eye and said
Coldly, You're not my mother. It's still slow pushing keys,
When I try to type certain words other words appear
That emerge deep from within my phone's heart and memory, words I
Have said over and over to countless men, the words that
Make me think of them, words from a blissfully happy time,
Words like beautiful and perfect and haunting and heartbreaking,
Like delicious and hungry and beg and hard and fast.
But when I lie down to sleep it comes quickly like a rush of
Violent waterfall, it's so deep and sucking that I think I may not
Come back from it so I fight furiously and pull myself out.
I think of the one I supposedly wrote when it all happened,
Whom when every time I see him a delicious little pulse
Of thrill knocks on every door in my body. I know I wasn't capable
Of doing good enough magic to ever catch his eye but now
His haunting star barely twinkles in the farthest stratosphere
Of my night sky. What truly prickles my skin with the softest
Stinging kiss of pain is I was so close to getting everything
I wanted. And absolutely everything else seems dull and dishwater
Gray in comparison. But to sleep now, where something seems
To find something haunting and delicious about me,
To feel its sucking arms clawing me under, a dark soft place
Where I will surely see his face again, for I have seen it there
A thousand times already, and even in my dreams the moment
Before I can meet with the sweetness of his lips, the curtain
Of black velvet fog spreads its waves like delicate carved icing
And swallows the darkness and confusion and constant
Churning longing and adoration that is me.