Madhattan

{ Tuesday, June 12, 2012 }


I rose early just to see the smog rising,
And set out to soak in all that the asphalt would lead me to.
Seeing red in the one place that was once gratuitous to me --
No longer.
No one knew me here,
The blatant anonymity of it all was thrilling,
Arousing,
And the sirens and screeching tires served as a personal soundtrack.

But it was so early,
And I always go to sleep a poet and wake up a fraud.
The sleep had hardly been rubbed from my eyes,
Yet here I was, beating the pavement,
Feeling fraudulent.

I couldn't write my way out of this.

I sat on the weathered-down curb.
The pen felt flimsy and foreign in my hand,
And the words fumbled out of my mouth like tiny pleas. 
'I never should've,'
'You never would've,'
'I just feel...'

I just feel, like, bone-dry and hollowed out, you know?
On the inside, where lively rivers used to flow.
Flow like your fingertips down my goosebumped sides,
Or the hot water, trickling.
And I never should've been that honest,
Because we both know how you take the truth and run with it.
Contort it, and use it like a dagger, even.
Letting the truth slip through my paper-thin lips never set me free,
But only bound me to you yet again.
You only keep yourself this sick in the head
Because I know how the words get you (off).
I know, I know.
I know I could never be what you need.

And then I hastily scrawled my poor excuse of a John Hancock,
Folded the parchment, and sealed the honesty inward.
My pulse calmed, knowing it was all hidden for now.

You were still in the room dozing when I returned,
Looking fallaciously angelic in a tangle of ivory sheets and blankets.
I sat in a stiff-backed chair for a moment,
Only allowing myself a few glances, for memory's sake.

I counted the rogue freckles scattered across your strong back,
(That was so appealing)
And wondered how someone could sleep that hard.
(Sometimes for afternoons on end)
But that was it.
The glances only turned to longings, and the longings turned into inward beckonings for me to stay.

I left the letter on the side table, confident that you would read it as soon as you rose.
The sun began rising and combating the smog through the window,
Simultaneously raising my spirits.
The skyline was salacious and alluring and taunting all at once.

So I ran for it.

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