mutterings from over the cuckoo's nest

i.
it is dark. that
is a judgment. my roommate
is snoring, and somewhere,
a girl is crying because
she doesn't have a heart
so she doesn't have
a home. if we are time bombs,
I think I must have detonated
a little late. it is dark
and I can't see
why all problems are defined
but their need to be solved.
I dream in color, but I live
in black and white. I drown
in gray faces that don't
sound familiar; it is dark
and I can't remember
the last time it was bright.

ii.
I am afraid
of caring. we are a strange
people, we, who love by
hating ourselves, by bleeding
out anything
good. I
am afraid that
one day, I might start crying,
and I won't be able to stop and
it will be the second Great Flood,
all the world will drown in
my mistakes. You
draw that out of me,
like a marionette on
a string, you pull these
anchors out from
my stomach until I
can hardly breathe. you
live on the other half of the mirror,
and
I am afraid
that distance is too
wide.


iii.
maybe,
in the end,
it's all the same. every
happily ever after tastes
sincere, every bookmark, every
memory loses its purpose. I've said
goodbye so many times, it's
muscle memory-- flinch,
repeat. swallow, repeat.
goodnight you, who
dreams of something
different. you, the
beautiful. you, the
broken, the believer.
I will never say
goodbye, but I
will lie in this discomfort
until my ever after
comes to get me,
too. (repeat)