on monday you begin your sins again

but if ever i get to choose, i bet i’ll take something real. i tell myself that. we keep waiting for the future. you know either two will come already. because some day it will be avoided eyes, table talk. a lot of silence. struggling with things easier for all of you with borders to say. each cup is almost empty now, empty snow. i drowned that day, died such a quiet death. i would go back to bed, one foot tripping, undone. flesh and lying and lying to you. in the dream i always lose the baby. nevermind, it’s not important. i was thinking to that nobody what am i going to say, see, go, do, be? after something he said to me. maybe the way he said hungry? i have a wild hunger, i thought. but not for food, as i tell myself not to drink the poison. but i do drink the poison, i lap up every word. & it does affect me, i’ve been looking for some poison, something warm. some warmth, some light, something to take me past what i once wished i could be, still wish i could be still, warmth, still. come back sunday, i said. more then, purity and more and more purity. i can’t wait until sunday, or monday. he was looking yesterday, you weren’t there yesterday, yesterday he was hungry and he’s hungry now and i promised. but i’ve always thought promises, well promises just aren’t, come back sunday. i can wait: but purity is nothing here. what we are here is untitled. i don’t have until monday or any other day other than this, with this, this is with me now, the world revolves around my supposed sins. you say to them collected here, drink, i expect you to wait? this hunger, this ?, the eagerness of ? and this is a ? of sorts so i’m eager, your hungry and i want what i need and i need what i am, or will be. so i’ve given in before. i got mine got some of mine got some of myself gave some of myself lost some of myself, gave in gave up got some. i have some, i am some, i am none, i am the sum of my wishes. i’m done with wishes, with what i’ve done to myself. you’ve never known what it was like to want to run. & just run. to get out of here, this cycle, pattern, circle, repeated. consumed, expelled, expected again. you’re not new to this. are you doing this on purpose? doing what? i can’t see anything. exactly, i say. you’re exactly that. we’re nothing, we’re nothing multiplied. we’re not sad sweeping violins in the background of your favourite songs, we’re not warm tears, we’re not. she looks behind me, she seems bound to me, and full of scorn, sometimes. so let’s stop talking about warmth, i said. i don’t like talking about warmth. it’s always so cold and i don’t mean the weather, inside, not the weather, i mean something else. i need warmth, i need this because it is my warmth. i need this, just because. my inadequacy has been resurrected, returned, those are not the ingredients for a holy miracle, a cure, precious blood and warmth, warm blood, cold blooded. don’t pull the sunshine into this. he goes on like this for a while. i stop listening. once, i watched my sister read my future in those pretty pictures, tarots. two lovers, the hanged man. back then, i loved that forged hand, but the seduction is now faded, & i bet her eyes dont glimmer anymore, morphine spilled tracts & blue veins circuiting down & into scarred wrists. because the stakes were high and high, we wish for and all as lost on that hand and her hands are empty now but for that hand and my hands are that hand. and the things we’ve never been are what we dream. when she was finished it was dark already. ready now? now she has given in, disintegrated. it happens to me often. the future splits into the past,& realigns like she’s about to return. i am ready, sink inward, needle sharp, sinking inwards, warmth and light. i pretend to look around, i drift off someplace, some time. a rise, a denial of fear, ice, a blossoming warmth forever at once that will never dim. i play a symphony on untuned skin. it doesn’t last long. minutes are lost, seven or eight, fading all the time, fading to a thin smoke wisp, and gone again. we are again. the dawn crawl, crawling to shore, sailing to sea. sunk. i sleep with myself with a shadow. you’re not here, and i wondered to write you a letter. i had everything, it was ready. i spelled my name wrong the first time around. that said everything, the letter explained everything, everything is nothing, the letter is nothing. it said, neutral walls, mutual walls. i picture stars hanging from trees. lilies that die. in the end it’s the truth about me & those circles. but i thought of it being read, so instead. instead i didn’t, instead i did this, that, looked for some and took some and gave myself some and some warmth though it is gone now, will be back again, going back on sunday like he says. on monday i will miss the way you…