Living In The Downtime

  

i see him in dreams small talkin' at me

but the neon beer lights scream like highway signs

i hide

from everything starting with the sunrise

and even in dreams where i just can't seem

to give the small talkin' back

i sink in the downtime

remembering his hands

i've got this hole inside

his arms are gone

and his breath on my skin

every day everywhere

in my head i'm always talkin' to him

but i see him in dreams

still small talkin' and smilin'

and i sit there a silent girl 

i hate me

not even free in my dreams

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I was 25. I had not showered for a week and wore the same summer dress -- black with tiny yellow flowers. Starting with myself, I hated them all. None of you shitheads need to say hello, you can't suck me in.

I kept the door closed, I wasn't going out there.

The voices and people, the scrambled eggs and burnt coffee on the counter that make up a life.

The sun came up again just as bright and warm and relentless as yesterday. I was a pile of filth topped with greasy hair. Then one day the doorbell rang. An old boyfriend stood there staring at the house.  I hid. I was an ugly charade.

Another day and another friend calling for me. Then someone knocked on the door again.

But I let life slide on without me. My car insurance ran out. None of my clothes fit. I was angry. I wanted to kill it all. But everything comes with a big red line. Aim for that, it's the threshold -- that saturation point where just a little more is too much and life spills back around as disgust washes away in an overdue tide.