I wrote a post called “And this, from a calm mind.”
An attempt to process in a positive light. With a smiling mind. In a lotus position sitting on the floor of my heart listening to contained thunderstorms.
It got erased.
I don’t know why.
Technical hang-up, I suppose.
Instead, I wrote this:
—
Sometimes, the wind interrupts me. I call it a spirit, but I don’t really know what I’m saying. Call it insanity that helps me cope with an impossible reality.
I’ve lost things I’ll never get back.
Losing them changes everything.
I’ve lost words about losing things.
I’ve lost my voice to cry for help.
Lost my spirit to express.
Lost my mind, wind or breath.
Call it all what you want — it’s gone.
One more mis-step, one more incident/accident, one more slip or slip-up. Collectively, everything I’ve done wrong makes the pain unbearable. Makes the weight uncarriable. Makes this darkness untreadable.
I cannot pierce the vacuum with a single thing. It’s growing, swelling, coming. It’s completely swallowing me.
I try, shaking shattered shredded heart, to stand on the edge of night awaiting monsters who, I am certain, will destroy or devour me. Tear my face away. Break my bones and snap my frame. Decimate what’s left of me.
I suppose some people lose body parts to tragedy — pysical pieces of themselves that makes it impossible to go on. I suppose this loss is more spiritual. A lack, not a growing, of a storm.
No motion. Stagnation.
Isn’t this the death I was running from?
It caught up. Caught me.
Caught me on fire.
I’m burning to the sounds of words like I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I can’t do anything.
doves and crows 