My back is bending, ready to break. She’s twisting the life right out of me.
You know how it feels to have the same thought plague your mind every day for 5 years?
It swims around your brain, like an eel slithering around the reeds. You just pretend you dont see it
Because that’s the water you’re wading through.
It creaks and wails in the tangled mess of willows that lie in the dense brush just off the safety of your house.
You feel it watching you from the farthest corner in the attic, the one place you would never dare to go without the direct sunlight of the day.
Your weapons, you will not need them. What waits for you out there? Only what you take with you.
The orange glow of a flickering lantern, throwing shadows across the grain of old wood planks supported by black and twisted wraught iron.
Texts of ornithology, literature written by giants, Flora of Alberta, Silent Spring, all propped up in place by book ends fashioned like ancient machines.
My old six string and a notebook full of words. That’s all I want.
Stuck with this phage, he is silent and passive.
A highway of a thousand thoughts processed every second
But never speak out.
She haunts him. What will she think of me?
In return, maybe he haunts her. She lies in bed, “What did he think of me?”
He is the abandonned house, now weathered and withered
With its stories kept within its walls.
He keeps his thoughs of her close and quiescent
As winter whispers to the wilted house, “You may bleed, but do to else…nothing”
I tried it. I couldn’t hide it. I just want to get back to be. Back into the man I used to be