We stopped being ourselves some time ago,
I know I did,
and then I vomited at the thought that maybe I was never really certain of any of this from the get go,
certain of myself,
and sometimes,
when I got really tired at night,
I started to think I could be friends with death,
I started to understand that I could succumb someday,
not because I had to,
because we all had to,
but because I could imagine that kind of fatigue,
I kept calling on myself,
with thoughts of lemonade and porches,
and things that were supposed to round out the twilight of my life,
of anyone's really
and I was getting ahead of myself,
like I had always done,
flooding my sunsets with morbidity,
in hopes of a unattainable mindlessness,
an impossibility of such tranquility in the face of obsession,
Maybe I stopped,
I know I did,
but I couldn't stop myself this time,
my mind is going,
is going,
going---
No comments:
Post a Comment