Though this be madness

Meet me at sixteen, when they first
turned up the heat, when I started
staring at the buildings that stared back,
seeing nothing worth envying. Back then,
I believed in some stupid shit, like sex was
the cure for everything… I dreamed of getting
to know my lab partner a little bit better,
without thought for her thoughts of me.
I used to dream of parking with a faceless girl
and doing whatever; now it’s parking in a garage
until the sun comes back. I came to understand
that I’d never fuck anyone (I could see it in the way
they didn’t look at me). I’d have to find a foothold
somewhere else.

Sometimes, when I’m overheating,
I wonder what my face will look like
afterward – it’s a shame that my attempts
at looking presentable will be as fruitless
as ever. Sometimes I wish I could crawl
back into the sea after wiping out all traces
of ever walking on land. While I’ve been sober
as hell, I don’t have the will to neglect my thirst
for a week. Every conversation is like trying
to shout over an infant, screeching because
it was taken out of the void. It’s not like I wanted kids
or anything like that.

My memory is fucked up.
I don’t recognize my reflection.
I keep mistaking strangers for friends
and friends for strangers. I’d stay up
a couple weeks if sleep weren’t the closest
thing I have to a hobby. My past scrolls
through my head with every action
dripping with sinister intent. Am I
a mind reader.

I have to wonder if I should have
done the deed seven years ago.
I could mark it in my calendar,
but I’ve never cared for deadlines.
I’ve heard its call.
I’ve always whispered back,
“Five more minutes.”

1 2