Gaslight

I’m in a fight for what only can be called my life, it’s been stolen, collected by the Gaslight.

Evil itself consuming air that fills my lungs and sends me clenching my fists down sightless, unfamiliar stairs.

And I will fall, and I will break, and I will crawl from the landing that leads to I’m not sure where.

My head is bleeding, my cheeks are wet with tears from the fear, the pain and not breathing.

There’s something that I see as I lie with my body and face on the ground.

A small light. A green-yellow halo sneaking through a crack.

I press my hands deep against the floor, gritting my teeth as my body leans into my damaged wrists.

There.  My legs shake as I draw my knees to my chest and allow myself to take a long, single, dignified breath.

Moving, I am moving now, walking, though not quite seeing.

I’m trusting my gut with my hands ready to brace me.

A leap of faith to follow my instincts, all from the smallest glimpse of light.

Feeling my hands against the wall I follow up from the glint of green halo to a knob, of cold old metal, a door!

I walk through, escaping the Gaslight.

Commit

It’s not that I don’t want to be friends, but the idea is exhausting, 

I’m afraid it’s something time won’t mend.

I’ll share your space, your time, and an uncommon familiar embrace,

We’ll keep it special, simple, though never commonplace.

Guilt

There’s a gnawing in his stomach but he won’t cry

There are tears forming in his eyes that won’t drop

He’s letting choice consume him with guilt, someone else’s choice

He couldn’t control the bottle in her hand, the drowning of her demons mixed with pills

Olive branches that were wet while burning smoked and choked the air from the room

Second chances were offered and while the branches burned the room went dark

They’re not together now, and that’s the bite of it, separated without proper parting

Her head slammed forward and hit the tub while her throat filled with fluid

She didn’t make it this time

She was found on the floor

Her boxes packed to move on to her next chapter will be taped shut

He’s not ok, and he won’t talk about it

She is gone though she never meant to leave like this

There are no answers and the guilt is heavy, packed in the same boxes taped shut

Dirt

Dirt

Move your hands through the deep dark soil

Let it coat your nails and embed itself in your fingertips until it’s pressed under your nails

Pull them out but don’t wash them, let them dry and feel the itch of the crust crack around your cuticles

It felt good at first, wet, cool, and dark

Good enough to close your eyes and feel innocent in pressing into the mystery of what you couldn’t see

It felt simple, a pleasure that took you back to childhood waiting to be called in from a long day of play

Now it’s dried, it’s sitting on top of your skin and you can’t rub your eyes

It’s dirty, it reminds you that innocence can be lost in the amount of time it took to dry

You feel compelled to wash it off, any soap will do, you must rinse it away completely, it’s the only way to feel clean again

That’s how your dirt made me feel

Lost innocence dried and washed away

Friday Morning

She was sitting with her boyfriend, it must have been close to 9 am.  People were moving quickly to their destinations to end their week.

And while the masses took to the escalators, elevators, ordered their morning coffee and checked their watches one last time before clocking in, the couple sat there as if staged and timeless.  He with breakfast and she with his company.

Her hands were folded neatly in her lap.  Her hair was smoothed into a perfectly wrapped bun at the base of her long neck. Faultless makeup dressed her face while she kept him company.

He was pushing his eggs around nervously as if looking for a tiny piece of shell.

“I need space and time to myself.” He said while looking deeply into his meal.  His head seemed fused in the position of his plate, keeping his stare down avoiding eye contact.

Her posture and expression never changed. Placidly composed she moved away from the table and removed her chair from under her, smoothing her dress as if to remove wrinkles she knew never existed.

It ended right there, over eggs Friday morning.