the garden wall

with my closed
head and injured heart,
i can only grimace-react
at the sound of your voice,
my pupils fixed and dilated,
inner-focused on a brick wall,
solid black and impenetrable,
buried and not so much alive.

a lancinating pain,
surrounded by scar tissue,
impedes all growth beyond
the day when death teased at me,
making it impossible to say your name
as the only person i needed,
because you were also the one
who most likely would not arrive.

your being here now
is a constant reminder
of thriving versus surviving,
as you continue the former
and i fail miserably at the latter,
unable to ignore the imbalance
of firm and nurtured implantation
versus a struggle in rotting soil.