No More, No More

7/26/2007
15:30

You’re pacing, like your heart’s racing, the way that you’re facing the lacing of my skirt, and my undershirt, like you could flirt with the hems and the sleeves, on the eaves of my wrists that held your fists not moments ago, while you went with the flow, and I went against the tide, finally unwilling to ride, while I stood by your side, now unable to hide the distaste in my mouth at the waste you were about, the addiction that put a restriction on the jurisdiction of your dreams that bled away at the seams; because all this time, I’ve counted all your crimes, when you couldn’t lower your hand when I tried to understand, when you couldn’t stop the glare that would flare when I refused to bend all the way till the end, but you wouldn’t let it go, and I shouldn’t have let it grow, because it’s all gone now, it’s all wrong now; so when you pushed me down and wanted me to d r ow n, wipe away that frown, next to the wooden table – shy and unstable, stuck in a fable – I shoved you away, made you astray, to stay at bay, with your wild eyes and mumbled cries, that swallowed the porcelain of my neck, the silk that lined the trek to the milk that defined my breast; but your unrest was at its best and the crest against the sliver of metal, like a petal, caught your eye and I, I couldn’t help but wonder why you wouldn’t at least try to dry my tears and my fears instead of s m e a r i n g them across the ceiling fan, the cupboards so tan full of your (empty) cans, spinning me around till I hit all the pots and pans, that shattered like bells when they fell against the swell of flat-bellied tiles, spanning the miles of marble, all garbled by my fallen limbs while the light in my eyes dimmed, and when your breathing finally eased, your heart suddenly seized, and now, you’re worrying a line into the ground, afraid that I’ll be found, while my life drips(drip, drip, drip) a rhythm on shimmering white, thrumming against your fright, and you’re washing your hands in the sink, thinking about another drink(Jack, Jose, Dom, Hennessy?), as you blink and wonder at the stink of your breath and the imminent death of my smile and good morning kiss, that you’ll surely miss, and you’ll be mourning twice this year, with my emptied womb – a baby’s tomb – and my broken rib that you sm a s he d against the crib just last week when I wouldn’t be meek, and you’ll be crying tomorrow when you wake and realize that there’s nothing and no one else to break but yourself, in all the fake pictures on the shelf that you left bereft of the actual theft you’ve committed, remitted to memories you machinated, assassinated; though I no longer worry, because you’re so, so sorry, sorry, sorry, but I’m already gone, and you think it’s all wrong, but there’s a smirk on my face that I’ve misplaced for so long – it’s all wrong(it’s all wrong) – when you close the door and leave me on the kitchen floor.

~Noct…………………