Sunday, April 13, 2014

A Letter to the Mourning

You rise with me most mornings -
You rise with me and then you rise within me; the most crushing aspect of this truth is that I allow this of you.

As the sun kisses the sky hello and then lets loose her long, buttery hair you sit in the bottom of the pit of my stomach and stretch out your sharp handles and wrench into that section of feeling that seems to convulse through my body. And I let you.

Through the routines of packing a lunch, buttoning pants, the brushing of hair - my reflection begins to take note of the effects you have on the pallet staring back - with each stroke of a brush I feel you making yourself at home within my property - though it is not for rent. I do not hit you with a notice of evacuation.

Your colors are dark - vibrancy isn't something that is attuned to the image you wish to maintain - I can mask you with every shade of coral and yellow I own, but the heavy cloak of your presence still bleeds through.

Some days I find the courage to snuff you like a menthol laced cigarette - and a sort of warmth begins to embrace the back of my throat - like the swift, but consoling, burn after a shot of tequila.

You're there in the evening, too . . . Often times biting harder and sharper than in the light of day - and my defenses are down. So you usually triumph over me; I imagine you dancing fine tangos across the fractures of a battlefield responsible for pumping life to the extremities.

I've let you dance - soft and slow, then fast and hard - and so often, I must fight the fingers from hitting particular numbers as you are the victor over me.

Did you know you did that to me?

You sit in the nest of my collarbone - feigning comfort and solace, but really you're the taxi driver of my strength and sanity - I watch as I realize you're heading toward a cliff.

You are similar to a sound proofed room - somehow I lose track of words of comfort and affection because you vibrate in the drums of my ear so loudly - 

Your survival depends on my belief of fallacy.

I'm catching on now - are you frightened? I wish you would be . . .

You may rise in the morning, but prepare yourself for a duel.

I will no longer wear your uniform of breaking - you've played house for much too long...

I'm corrupting this system and the rules you've set up - the rules I've blindly abided.

You don't get to steer the course anymore - you've outstayed your welcome. The comfort you provide no longer satisfies - and we may meet, again, but I will no longer sit in the bottom of this well - 

Because I've been asked to cry out.

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