Pity-Poetry

Pity-Poetry

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Still Here

Three years ago 
Nearly four
A silver automobile
Glistening in the heat

Nearly four
Hours from the sunlight
Lit in agony
I listened intently
Nearly halfheartedly

To carousels 
Laying placidly on the burning
Backseat
Making art with my blood
Stains

You are not you
You are everyone else

This house
Its halls
I paced and wallowed 
On its floors

The harsh rugs a gaze 
Away from my eyelashes 
Faded pinks and golds 
Mostly blue

A tub filled with my salty waters
Never drained but the plug
Always pulled
Close on intent

School work and books came
Devoid of human emotions
Leaving me shiny and clean-
Shaven

I was too cold
I was me
I was not everyone else

Then you wandered by this house
Where three years ago I sat
Outside in my father's car
Hoping it was not
Permanent

You wandered past and let me know
But I was stuck in my salty bath
So we planned for tomorrow
Always leaving space for maybe

And I was not expecting you
At all
But you were here
Nearly halfheartedly 

Seven ebbing hours 
On my porch and
On the rocking-bench

A month in consequence as lovers
A month later needing repair

Four days more 
Listening to the same song
I painted to in the hot backseat

On the non-existent telephone
I imagine your voice
Hello?
Yes, I am still here
After all it is the same
Home
And you are the only one in it

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