Muddle
We’re two drifting skeletons.
Foggy thinking. Dirty hearts.
Volatile. Rough. Unpredictable.
We’re only human.
Frustration has me glitching.
I’ve been up and down
these stairs so many times.
One minute I’m a molotov cocktail,
next minute I’m over it.
A man on my block sells guns.
Tonight I bought plywood,
sandbags, duct tape, pills,
vodka, a wrench, and a lighter.
I saw the full moon
on my way home,
it made me remember
being a little kid.
One night when I was tiny
I was camping
nowhere near reality.
I saw all the stars.
Felt smaller than small.
It was beautiful and frightening.
I knew earth was a trap.
A planetary padlock.
I thought, with enough effort,
I could fly free.
Now my mind’s worse.
I’m a murky mess.
Painkillers keep me crawling.
Far away she’s feeling
almost halfway decent.
Licking her wounds with coffee,
then gin and tonic.
Being angry seems like
a waste of time.
Wildfires burn hot.
She craves more strength,
a tougher frame.
She’s been battling nervousness.
Trying to drop her hurt.
During childhood she fought off
a severe case of pneumonia.
The sickness was extreme,
all fever and pain.
She didn’t give up then.
She never will. According to her
life is a long, brutal game.
Every morning the stakes increase.
Every rotation is a victory.