by April Pittman
Thursday, September 09, 2010
Not rated by the Author.
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Your dark hair doesn't haunt me anymore.
There's nothing there for me to remember
other than the memories themselves.
You've found her, with her light complexion
and the admirable weight loss,
the good christian family and the plump
kissable lips. She nearly lost it all
and neither of you will ever know or believe
who it was that brought her back from the brink
laying there in that hospital bed with my soul
focused on the stretched link between her
and consciousness. You will never know
and I will never tell of my final gift to you.
You haven't held anything for me in a long time.
There's a place I've found that I've been looking for
since all of this began. But every step I climb
toward what was once unattainable,
I look back behind me and see the steps
that my feet just left crumble
like pieces of stale cake and beneath them
there is nothing but a rotting black pit of pain.
Pain and regret, but I get closer to you,
closer to all of you and every fucking step
costs me another piece of my control.
"Keep climbing the stairs. Even if you can't feel them,
they feel you." You're right there. So close
I can smell you, I can feel you
But I can't touch you. You are at once too close
and too far away for me to reach.
Just one touch, you say. One touch
and it will all fall away.
Excuse me while I stand here for a while
and contemplate what this next step leaves behind.
Is what I'm walking toward salvation?
Behind me is only hell and
there's nothing left to haunt me anymore.
Now the ghost in this house bears my own image.
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|Reviewed by Jeremy Vaeni
|Healing at a distance or healing at a distance to remain distant? This is good thought food: What's the point of healing and helping if one's reality is virtual? (And here, I'm talking to myself too.)|