it's fine

i find that i have covered too much of myself over. i find that i needed to sing when i was quiet and staring at the seagulls that walked around in the back yard. i just want to say i'm sorry. i just want to keep all the noise in my head to myself. someone should push me now, out in the open, out into the street where they hand me loneliness and paint my face. i used to drive into the walls and leave my conscience stranded on the dark stone stairs of the church. now i just fade like i'm supposed to. i just wake up like i'm supposed to. i won't throw any of me into those sharp waters. i'll just sit here, that's all. i'll just sit.

crossing the red afternoon

i woke up after all the dying had happened in my dream and i thought about leaving a note on the table telling them that i would be gone for a few days and not to worry. i couldn't do it though. i couldn't leave so i broke another part of myself open so that i could get through the day and i smiled so that no one would know how everything else inside and around me was over. everything just felt finished.

last night i stood in front of an empty church, on the altar and i saw my reflection in the black top of the piano that was off to the side and i unplugged all the lights so that i could pretend it was just like the grave except more open and full of soft black spaces. everyone else was downstairs where all the music was. i held my breath. somebody else must have been holding the rest of me together. somebody else must have delivered me from over the brown water back into my bed, somebody else is behind everything. somebody must have found me there in the middle of town, underneath the bell tower, underneath the sandy bottoms of their shoes and i stayed with them until they were able to shake me from their skin.

find me an altar. find me a skin to climb into. i'm moving now.

i'm here but i'm not sure why.