dust-storm

i do not believe they are evil, just unaware. most of the time, no one’s really aware of when they’re killing you. maybe because most of the time, neither are you.
it happens. like dust. builds slowly. and by the time you have your pile as evidence, it’s too late.

my right hands smells like herbs of peace i sprinkled around the house and on the kid and across my chest. my left hand smells like sex.

the puzzle remains of my guilt for selfishness. how much and how often and fairness and such. being a real mother is hard.
but then the feelings come of my chest being used as a nice cushy place for the ass of the world and i push away. i want you all to go away today.

it is only 9 thirty in the morning and already i’ve worked myself into a mindtrap. watching his head go under yesterday, only his hands visible and left reaching. reminded me of something. maybe what’s it’s like getting out of bed.

the new one listens to the same songs the old one listened to and lately it’s been bringing added guests to the Guiltfest. i did not love you. i just thought i had to.

And I feel this coming over like a storm again. I am too connected to you to slip away, to fade away. Days away I still feel you touching me, changing me, and considerately killing me.