Begging you to wait for a minute by the wall where your creeping feet have never been before

I didn't think regressing so much was even possible, I am surrealism. My knees have begun to buckle. Atmospheres and layers consume. Swallowing me whole and if I cross my fingers, they will spit out just the bones. Jelly bones. Tire wastes. Blood thinners. I do not deserve your perfect rows of white enamel, or your lanky stature, certainly not the words stemmed from years of pouring over books. No one knows how to communicate anymore, pick up the phone tell me about your brittle bones. Tell me about your scandalous lackluster friends, oh wait you only make contact when you want to complain. But I am moving backwards, my feet slipping up in the wax floors I slide down the halls, regress, suppress, repress. Some city scape, I'm not easily impressed. the pressure and the feeling as if walls are moving in closer. Flickering candles, wind, graphite pencils and a painting of produce. Dark hair, dark eyes, moccasins for shoes. Idealism, I will not you let in. Realism. Age, numbers, secrets, organs. It's my tennis's shoes fault.

Ageless beauty

How is it that I've lost the ability to cry? Is it the commonplace of funeral homes and churches in my life beginning to numb me? I can look into an open casket and feel nothing for someone who I am related to, someone who loved my family with all their heart. I cannot cry even though the numbers of the first generation has dwindled to two. This is hard, not being able to feel. I've become frigid much like the air outside that dries out my eyes and skin. You didn't look 89 Polly, not at all. Not a wrinkle in your skin, your hair perfectly curled, everyone in the room was jealous of you. Stephen talked about how he's had seven funerals in four months it's a wonder he can barely focus at work. And I wonder has this security blanket around my waist been induced by the depression and stress that has become a burdening dark cloud that follows me everywhere I go. I can't bare it any longer, old habits have weaved their ways back into my thoughts, into my routine. Ruining everything I've worked so long and hard for. The priest read the eulogy and he read something about Pauline meeting god at the gates and he would judge her, like Osiris. The Osiris being the inserted contribution my brain added after remembering a particular question from my art history exam. Anyway, more importantly that we couldn't plead the fifth because we had no excuses we are to be judged. And I remembered saying how much in my atheist angst I had an agnostic outrage. I yelled through to receiver about how much who ever up there was punishing me and my whole family by taking away everyone that's near and dear to us. Friends and most importantly family. I understand no one lives forever I've always accepted that but it this all could've happened over a longer stretch of time it would've been easier on us. On all of us. Does anyone understand how unbearable it's been for the majority of my family to go to the same graveyard 5 times in the past four months. It's all so surreal. AT LEAST I KNOW YOU TRIED.

Anniversary

What happened to the nights when I had a cigarette hanging off of my lips, my hair flying in my face not so gracefully, but we would speed over the hills and through those winding roads with our feet not touching the ground and our hands clasped tight, just talking, just getting familiar with each other's faces. Blinking back tears because my stomach muscles were cramping up, you have the greatest sense of humor. You look like the character Emmit. I need you, not like all those times before I really need you to tell me that I'm going to come out of this okay. Will you be there when I'm glazed in fluorescent light, when my wires and veins sync, will you? Ironically it is your job to do this for others on a daily basis.