Untitled

September 16, 2003

Another day of vivid color
brings a day of thoughts
of other places, other times.
Memories and fantasies collide
as I ignore the sensation
of flying high, again
"The one thing that's left,
it's all I have left,
it's all I have left,
it'a all I have left,"
I hear you say again.
I repress this
like I repress everything else.
I ignore it again.
Look up at blue sky, green leaves
turn yellow, faded green cover
over the faded green swing,
and the fading green grass
growing up too high.
Wish it was gray,
wish it was rain,
because of the tears
that refuse to come
when it is this nice.
The lingering sensation
that is all you and all me
now wavers under delusion.
Beginning or end,
something is about
to make me turn again.
Turn back to you,
turn my back to you,
I can't tell which.
I have visions of both.
Look back to the child
and his chalkboard
to pretend this is all
though I'm certain
it is not.
Look at fake wood blades
of a fan overhead,
and the fake wood
under the keyboard,
try to make the real
Real.
Your name on my lips
all the time nowdays.
Your name on my tongue
though it is whispered
with fear, with hope
but not with certainty.
I'm still listening
as you keep saying,
"It's all I have left."
I just want to yell,
"It's not my fault!"
But there is no certainty
that this is the truth,
anymore than the rest
of what has haunted me
since I first had memory.