ahhh yes, family gatherings *takes a handful of xanax* i love family time
At dinner I’d have to hide the bleach
in places that you wouldn’t think to look
as so to kill all temptations
rooted inside and dirt under fingernails.
I scrub the floors at night asleep, not
waking you in your rest with
restless mind half conscious of chemicals
dissolving in air rather than kidneys.
There are dents in the walls, in your head,
in your chest, can you feel where
your heart still is used to be used to beat?
Doors will not lock completely now.
Dogs dead through chewed the bottom half of wood,
hanging ominously like yourself in closets,
littered with what you may have thrown yourself away
as condoms: all disposable, broken, and empty.
I can only half remember where scars meet bone,
and hair grown out, hung out, wrung out,
all wrapped up in cigarette smoke from cigarettes smoked
so you can too forget what I already only half remember.
In chairs uncomfortable and splintering
sat across tables unset, but made heavy
by the weight of your skeleton and
other things we leave unsaid.
Underneath, kicking feet impulsively seizure,
unsure of their lovers, their home, or the destination
of the dimension to which they’re traveling,
or even why - you cannot tell me why.
Food gone bad and milk turned sour,
the hour approaching has since passed,
leaving you leaving me, and I yet to wonder what
healing properties you hope to find in bleach.