Image for the poem and I

and I

Would anyone look for me,
He asked.
Not really, not tonight.

Stuck in a room somewhere -
Like a child about to be scolded,
I looked back at him -
Staring me down.

Air thick with something and I still can't think straight,
He told me,
And I do.

Just a little bit above the sound of song playing -
I say the sordid,
I say the harsh -
The sprinkle
Of gentle mercies,
The scratched up melodies with it.

And by midnight,
He spills his.
By this moonlight,
Nothing was pretty.
And barer than I have ever
Ever been.

And it hangs around, the way
Everybody wants to jump in the sympathy,
Until they see the reality of it -
The filth of it, the ugly of it.

(The reality of me -
The filth of me -
The ugly of me.)

But he was familiar with it, too
So when the words faded, and our throats raw,
We just sat in the silence
And kept our judgements away from the lightening room.
His deep dark chuckle silences everything.

By dawn,
We fell asleep.

Written by thepositivelydark
Author's Note
Poem 2 of 30 NaPoWriMo 2019

Poem 2 of 30 NaPoWriMo 2019


Music: My Manic and I by Laura Marling =

As I was digging deeper for this NaPoWriMo, some things from my younger years resurfaced; this new darkness was never far, and art blurred with life, it seems. This will be a slow burn.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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