The Glad Game -------------------------------------------
I hate mornings the most. French-pressing coffee
from broken beans, and facing the same mirror
I smashed the night before because it held some secret
sameness of her I didn't want to see in my own reflection.
The tired ritual of brushing yesterday from my teeth and hair,
painting war circles around each eye while the rainbows
shift on my wall from a window string of crooked prisms
I collected when I played your little Pollyanna...
I'm glad you're dead today.
I'm glad you don't see the destruction you've caused,
that your cheerful whistle isn't splitting my hang-over
while afternoon clock hands scrape at my bones.
There are so many things left to do that I can't finish
except the bottle I've conquered alone.
You take me back with this piece, to a time when I just joined here and I was exposed to this deep level of inner-you-ness.. and it made me flare up and feel something on another level that is hard to define but I can only say it is deep and somehow this takes me back, you have tapped into a raw energy here. Something that leaves me shaking and also smiling, not because I enjoyed the piece only but because on some fundamental level it feels like my madness is understood...
oh geez...i think i might know where this came from...
there is so much regret but also bitterness in these lines...look at me now since you left...life is an ugly routine...i hate me...and i hate you for leaving me...but also miss you and i miss the old me.
i'm glad you can't see me now...and i hate even the idea that the thought of you might cheer me up...
i don't want to be cheered up today...i just want to be left alone to drown my sorrows in my own bottle...
if you were here i don't even know if i would offer you a sip..
wow, among yours, jane's and shawn's pieces..
i got some delicious food for thought...and really felt some stinging emotions.