I bring a lot to the table,
a choice of three.
But everything I do just falls flat.
I could call it karma,
but I don't think it works
like that anymore.
And you make it a point
to have eye contact.
Was it to hurt me?
Was it to show just what
kind of monster lives
in that soul?
I might be a joke,
but the biggest one I believed
was the capacity of you to care.
One minute laughing with
an old friend,
the next was just sweat.
Why would I care?
Just listening to the hustle
and bustle of everyday
life passing me by from the
other side of the bathroom door,
suffocating my life with a hand
over my shallow existence.
Can never let go,
not ever since an ex of an ex
helped me realize just how
I flow.

She walks down the hall with her head down,
People judge the way she dresses and speaks.

All alone she sits in the back where she doodles in a book,
Others look over their shoulders and snicker at her.

At lunch, she sits under the tree admiring the view with classical music,
A boy watches her from a distance wondering whether he should go to her.

On the way home, she's tripped and ridiculed for being a freak,
Though they don't realise what happens at home.

In her room, she sits in the dark avoiding the confrontation of others,
Because what they don't know is she can't speak nor hear.

An accident caused by her family which in turn blamed her for it,
She was outcasted and injured without reason or justice.

She's had nose bleeds,
Stumach aches,
Dizzy spells and shortness of
Breath these last weeks or so,
And worry is a vampire attached
To my neck like the
Opposite of an IV; draining
Me, leaving me
With more than one of the
Same ailments.

At 38, I'm on six different kinds
Of daily medication. **** this
Stitched-up heart, with
Its moving
Parts of metal.
At 24, she doubles that.
Every piece of good news has a
...but... nailed to it like
Vinnie the Poo's friend Donkey's
Tail,

And I wish I was the healthy man
She deserves. One strong enough
To carry her bucket loads of
Tears, her chestfuls of well-
Earned bitterness. But I
Tapped out and went home
For the weekend. Recharging in
Countryside silence and solitude.
This is my docking station.
Superman and the sun.

*“In the unlikely event of a sudden
loss of cabin pressure, oxygen
masks will drop down from the
panel above your head. Secure
your own mask before helping
others.”

Are you just going to stand there and
Watch me peel this garlic, she asks.  
I shrug with a slight smile.  

Beer to my lips, and I catch her moving
The way a dancer does when she doesn't
Dance.

What is art?
This.
The juggling of seconds that contain

Something more than all of those
Without her.
We could be on a midsummer

Balcony in Venice, or
In a barley field in Provence, mid-
Kiss and laughing so soothingly the

Sun doesn't even feel like it takes.
Red skinned by sun-down, sipping
Local wine and asking ourselves

How the Hell life became so
Liveable. But she's in my kitchen, *not
Dancing across the worn down linoleum

With a freshly peeled piece of garlic in
Her hands, and I just found the key to
The treasure chest that contains

All the reasons I have to keep
Breathing instead of not
To.