i ascend the stairs
into subconscious thought:
an attic
bare
but for mirrored walls
and the eternal echo
of a naked light bulb
screaming
like a firefly
caught in cobweb streamers
in the mirrors
eyes reflecting mirrors
empty
while i battled life's invisible demons
with a plastic sword
he's blasting the Verve
from the speakers of a year old Pentium
humming the tune of a love i killed years ago
grinding my teeth my misery only worsens
but
like the maniacal Harlequin on the verge of suicide
i am grim
brooding
with a painted smile
a small attempt at apology
to Columbine
for his behavior
misbehavior
weeds sprout at my attempt
to walk out
entangling my feet
in a storm of tough black rope
no escape no escape
they're screaming
blinding silver bees
humming my mistakes
into the air
regret
remorse
making honey of these things that tie me down
making honey til i explode of its bittersweetness
into tears at the feet of my maker
endless
so endless is this flood
no dam could stop it
its rising til i thought it drowned us
both
but he was gone
and i was living
and living i am still
in darkness
and alone . . .
flame bursting from
thought
my imaginary mother
lies stricken ill
in bed
or walks
alone in the
garden
with the flowers and the birds
or on midnight terraces
entangled
in vines
and vines
of honeysuckle
seeing nothing
through dilated eyes
but dream
endless dream
one
after
the
other
of killing me
throwing plates like the Duchess
at her baby pig
slicing through my neck
so she had confided in me
once
when my imaginary mother and i
took a walk
in those gardens
one day
she crushed a crystal wine glass
in her hand
smeared the blood
on her apron
and rambled on about Queen Mary
the days
we believed in G-D
and were protestant
she dreamt
she got her head was chopped off
exactly on the hour of midnight
i dreamt the same
only in my dream
it was during the day time
i took a knife
and sawed
and sawed
but couldn't completely die
and they saved me
but i was forever paralyzed
my imaginary mother
told me that if i wanted
she would push me off a cliff
if i really wanted
if i really, truly wanted
and i said yes
but she is institutionalized
and i am self-pitying
so my real mother says
i wish
i could be as deep
as Aldous Huxley
i wish
i could be as profound
as Anais Nin
i wish
i wasn't a glutton
conceited
or pitiful
i wish
i didn't have to wish
in my first life
i was a child
a slave
and then a convict
in my second life
i was a child
a master
and then a victim
in my third life
i was a child
a whore
and then a mother
in my fourth life
i was a child
a nun
and then a martyr
in my fifth life
i was a tree
a home
and then just ashes
in my sixth life
i was an egg
a bird
and then a dinner
in my seventh life
i was glass
a face
a computer screen
stop staring at me
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