it doesn't take much to make me want to fold.
two little numbers.
phone-fed, over easy like the sunday morning after; weak arms deflect, bleary eyes tear away the news.
poised to bury her flat lined, fan favorites into the dust as her creatinine trajectory releases more gracefully than katniss's bow into a powerpoint presentation on recent blood results.
a measure of relief arrives.
migraines self-diagnosed as marital migraines.
"the addict and the codependent."
["but wait, isn't it all HER fault?"...]
4 and a half months ago, i walked out of rehab.
i walked up to my husband who i had known for over 20 years.
we hugged. we said "hi". and we looked at each other for the first time. ever.
and 20 years vanished in 20 seconds.
and that's why i stood in my driveway for 20 minutes before i could walk into my house.
because i was a newborn.
[and then he was born.]
and tonight you're fondling the thin edge of a threadbare, 10 of clobbered. flick, flick, flicking the victim card between yer two front teeth; exactly where it fits just so.
play or fold...play or fold...play or fold...play or fold...
[fuck, it. i'm in.]
one in. all in...right, daddy?
the whole house smells like piss.
you get walloped for the same accident over and over and over, and it used to be ok, because you love your master so much. wag, wag, wag. yes, yes, i caused a lot of accidents. except now you realize the carpets have been torn up, new flooring has been put down and still you're still being punished.
problem is, the house still smells like piss.
[and it's everyone's fault.]
so no-one lives here anymore.
[the house doesn't always win.]
separation anxiety seeps in; sludge, in every pore, every breath; its stank, settles foul distress. simple, separate sadness.
[i am a visitor to the love of my life...]
dogs manifest separation anxiety by ripping the stuffing from thousand dollar sofas while irresponsible owners leave them alone, sedated, for 14 hour work days.
hens manifest separation anxiety by tearing out pillows from 10 year-old "as-is" ikea couches, and zealously squirreling through its nether region, for a single, precious narcotic score on which to throw away her 6 month sobriety.
separation anxiety fogs, drizzles, my thoughts; cold clogs my heart.
i am exhausted. terrified. and on my way out...
so, i'm holding onto this hand.
but i'm looking to fold...