Elucidating Questions

This war I don’t understand. This battle I tried to make go away by falling silent and just listening.

No one ever wants to hear the other side.

Yet it’s hard to say whether it’s true or not. All the things she said.

Either she was the single most dangerous person I ever was thrown in the path of, or she is a liar.

Either she is dying, or she is a liar.

And if she is dying I still want her to get better. It’s not ever the thought of deserving of it, it’s the thought of it can’t be helped.

Then the thought of I wish it could be.

She’d still sell me down the river. She’d still come up with these reasons why it’s my fault.

There was a time we talked about everything, that it felt like a family,

It hurts every time, dangled before on a string. These people who have this thing I don’t understand.

They say you’ll always need them, so in an attempt to find a family

And the ones who kept calling and talking about home…

The fantasy of having friends and family. The fantasy of feeling loved and accepted.

Apologies never matter, when I sit waiting to apologise for everything, and apologies never come.

She said she loved me, she believes I am bad luck it would seem.

So I wished Fortune would smile upon them.

While she sits on top of something that would make it easier, and it’s still my move to go there.

But I’ll never trust her or her or him or him.

By this time last year

This year never happened.

My heart is not home, it screams at the sun, it cries for the moon.

It stares at Jupiter. It waits for Saturn.

The lover screaming, she doesn’t say it’s my chance.

She says it was everyone else’s.

Regardless, I tried. That. That thing I keep forgetting.

The start of the wandering to try to find what I was looking for.

I knocked on every door, trying to find a raison d’etre.

The list grew shorter, of all the people who could have said something,

Not my choice. Human choice in every thread that pulled and tied and wrapped and bound.

So it’s more likely, they don’t have to try, but they do.

Because they’ve been watching it pour. All that happens is the batteries run out.

After all the children of the children of the immortals.

The fire is too hot, the disguise is the green that is hidden in,

Every second of every day, don’t want to think about anything.

The memories.

The moon is setting above the sun, but a sliver beneath love, but a sliver.

Still looking at you. Still sad that’s all I saw.

It can’t be helped if it’s not serious or a joke and it’s just words that fit

They go there, right, when everyone quotes.

There is still chalk on the walk, there is still a basketball court.

There are still reasons why, but not reasons why.

If there was someone to point fingers at, when there isn’t, fingers crossed.

It already was so the words don’t really have the same feeling as before, but

It would appear that following the following just restarts

Again.

And she.

Are the same song.

Again the should have been continuation

Some dream somewhere.

The swirl of the colours in a canvas of time that threads the whites and blacks within the frame.

The sounds still hollow, the feeling of the bass as whispers of lies unheard and they will be forgotten.

There’s no place to go home to. There’s no one to talk to,

Not that way, never when it has to hurt like that to do it.

Hollow thoughts, and who cares?

So closely the eyes shut and there was care within the want to vomit.

But it doesn’t stick long enough.

There’s not enough power left. In the batteries.

They run out, and there’s no way to plug in. And the attempt to break the monotony with something that feels like alive

Just ends in guilt.

And I still don’t understand why I should have to live within life and never be alive,

But I’d rather not.

I would rather not.

Sitting on the sidelines as the people wander the evening and the back and forth of where they came from

Can someone explain how to come out of a room with no doors?

Can someone explain how to leave this place and find…

Something.

Anything other than zero. Anything other than being alone and feeling apart and separate.

No.

The answer came on its own and I should have known

I am too damaged to ever be who I was.

There is a reason why solitary confinement comes to an end or why spirit journeys end with words or why walkabouts end in being together.

All the doors shut in my face I tried and felt like a burden I tried and felt unwanted I tried and was told I would not fit there.

Now I am told, I am the only one who feels how I do. No one else needs to talk about it.

That everyone has experienced this and told no one, that no one else feels.

I do not know how it got this way. I will never understand.

I tried really hard to not hear the things he told me.

I tried really hard to believe he was wrong, that he was paranoid, that he was narcissistic.

I tried really hard to deny that people don’t just disappear and turn away, waiting for any reason to run.

He asked if I’m mad at him.

He’s never acknowledged what happened. Neither the things she did.

If they did the best they could, truly, sitting alone in a box with no prospects no love no belief in anything but that which cannot be seen

Truly…

The only way to escape the monsters is to fall silent and never hear.

Text is not words. Pretend to fit in put lines where they belong pretend.

Erase me then.

Except that is the one wish they won’t grant.

I’m so bad a person, all I do is sit around and wish.

There are no colours here. Everything is grey.

Everything is falling.

Still they think they can guilt me into feeling guilty for being ignored.

After all I deserve it.

That’s what my first love taught me.

That’s what my second love taught me.

That’s what my third love taught me.

That all I deserve

Is to be ignored.

I am told I was good, but these days it doesn’t stick. Just another kid, nothing new.

Piano or singing or languages.

Ran away with the youngest now second eldest in hand.

They were fighting, certainly something to do with who was at fault

For causing the fever or the seizures, or whatever they were fighting about then.

They family is worth most, yet I wait still for it to be true.

It was then, as some point, once upon a time I believed my parents loved me

And I was often wrong. But back when we pretended everything was fine.

How many times must I burn?

I don’t remember.

I remember being afraid.

I remember that awful feeling I remember being sickened by things I had never seen that existed inside anyways.

Afraid of the fire, afraid of the vehicles, afraid of everything that wasn’t

Then home.

Taken away for whatever reason, tricked by a cruel old woman.

She’s dead now, as time will.

Three years, school at home and forests to play in and places where it felt like love existed.

Singing outloud never brought anything, singing inside only brings silence.

Didn’t understand, people when they were. Had some friends they all disappear.

At the point.

When there were hands touching and places unseen. No one came to the rescue in the box, and no one ever will.

The memories live playback playback playback.

No.

And it hurts.

And I can’t breathe.

I feel sick.

Total shut down.

Hidden away one year, the sixth.

Met a person who knows, who we haven’t seen. Faded away, cursed his name, tried to pull us back, back to the box.

A good person, surely, who knows these days.

Three

It seemed like friends after we were thrown out the first time for not reaching her bars

Two perhaps, one disappeared.

That’s how they go, slipping away every time.

Every time like the waves on the shore, except the shore is always there.

The first time the place was left, for a place that always called, the stones and the castles and the thousands of years.

Who wants to debate, the sun is the one who sings in the music and screams it loud.

And the ones partying are the ones playing the parts, the melody is in this song too.

Cold.

The thief who tells every secret to get ahead in the game. Thief, the feeling of the secrets being told

A summary of twenty.

The joke is that some of it, but I don’t know what, until it happens.