heterokaryon
the floor’s never been closer
or that’s how she sees it
staring at the blemishes
in the dirty worn wood
the degradation of that floor
seems nothing if not
confirmation of
even the stoutest things’
willingness to compromise
under extreme circumstances
she is those planks
shifting and buckling
with the atmospheric pressure
defacing itself to the will of
steel toe boots
heavy furniture
a dropped anything
she can no longer be certain
but there was possibly
a time before all this inevitability
now she spends hours
stomach down on the mattress
inches from that floor
thinking about
the day when
they finally
become
one
clouds
she remembers a time
when things mattered,
when everything wasn’t
always gone
time and days,
people and their plans
all of this made sense
had a place
in the collective everything
she flips back through
old calendars
trying to pinpoint exactly
when it all turned
and became this
grey mist of a life
she wonders if it’s a
chemical imbalance
or maybe it’s the
rest of the world
she remembers those colors
they were so vivid
so shockingly bright
they could blind a person
if they weren’t ready
or at least
shake them to tears
everything smelled like life
everything flowed
moved with easy purpose
she sees the children
on the playground
outside her bedroom window
hears the beautiful cries
the warmth in each movement
she sees the sun
just above the clouds
muzzle
she seethes from inside
trying to imagine what
it must be like
to be one of them
running through the world
with an obnoxious abandon
caution to the cyclone
as everything spirals
into the dirt
and they play as though
it’s the 1950s and everything
is clear cut high and tight
horn rimmed suburban grid
while she boils alone
and the dark never lets up
and this world is fuming
fuming from within
and she only wants to scream
but her biggest fear is
what her own voice
would sound like
holding
she’d shoot herself in the foot
if it were all that easy
so she’ll settle for this
counterfeit self sabotage
hoping for anything to
pull her up
or drag her down
anything but this
anything
dust
she swears she once
saw a reason in all of this
some promise of payment
some justification
for all of this
but the days
the years
grind on
each harder
often more unbearable
than the last
and she’s beginning to wonder
if there really will be any
reconciliation
or is this all there is
spending a lifetime
melting into nothing
until all that’s left
is a husk
that no one will miss
when the fickle wind
finally blows it away
realization
she continues to sit alone
recycling a past that
never had to happen
in the first place
everything hurts in these days
these nights of nothing
but regret and
all the losses
so many
it seems impossible for
time to allow so much
but here she is,
alone
cold
hopeless
shivering the nights away
with the dread that
this is all there ever was
