Coagulating Perspective
The seconds drift into minutes,
cascade into hours.
Relativity floats subtly past
and pools around perspective’s
esophagus.
Waiting is the fierce tick
of a sequestered heart.
Tracking time,
by counting blood cells sailing
through a clotting current.
Labored lungs grasp at
tiny red buoys,
flagged with markers of
understanding.
It’s become harder to
comprehend the notes I left
myself. I tried so hard to
hammer that nail into memory;
I bruised knuckles from exasperated swings.
never thought I had the strength
to sever the yoke of what bound
my soul to yours.
But I swung,
and I swung
and I swung.
Until I drove you away.
I thought it would kill
the pain;
fooled my body into taking the blame
so I could have peace.
But now I wish I could feel
anything but this sordid repeal
of discernment I let my body
confuse with mending.
I clutch each cell between
aching hands,
and demand it’s clarity;
tighten my grip when
they squirm and feel
the pangs of past;
remembering the agony
of losing you all over again.
For fear of suffering
memory,
I risked losing myself.
I couldn’t breathe…
burying myself in bloody denial.
I almost let my need of you
coagulate to the point of
my body’s repose.
You were once something
vital, a brilliant spark of something
magical much like serotonin at the
perfect levels..
I don’t know what made us bleed.
But you’ve scabbed over..
You’ll probably itch for a long time,
reminding me that love is often
less than divine. And every now and then,
you might feel a sharp nail
grinding against your surface
like a dry tongue searching
for the comfort of water.
Don’t be afraid,
that’s just me counting the minutes,
trying to remember
how to breathe.
-James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.
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