Fight

Rope me in, then toss me out

like a fishing rod in search of triumph.

After all, I am yours to cast about.

Gently release me from the hook I’ve swallowed like an eager fool

Or take me home and gut me if it helps you achieve fullness.

It’s not that I don’t value my own life enough to fight,

in fact I squirmed and wreathed to my last wide eyed breath at your feet,

before accepting the simple truth like a step in the grieving process.

As sure as the sky is vast, I was always going to lose.

Facts never make a shattered reality easier to swallow than glass

and time didn’t make adjusting any more possible

when my overpopulated brain was starkly robbed of every subject

the moment we are finally left alone.

Like winning the lottery after playing for so many years

without winning a dollar, holding the jackpot induces a period of silence

that cannot be explained.

I hyperventilate from the inside,

 but can’t think of a single thing to say to save my life,

even if all I had to do was ask for a brown lunch bag.

Raise your arms and throw me into a wall, or

waive your index finger like a wand and let me slide down to the floor to rest,

as far as I’m concerned every move you make is sorcery

and I can’t do a damn thing to stop you from having your way.

Hours before we are scheduled to meet,

 I am consumed my nausea, panic and irrational fear.

I approach the door and feel up my legs and chest,

my heart skips and my breathing becomes irregular as I check

“Am I wearing pants, did I forget to put on a shirt after I showered?”

Ridiculous, right?

Still it’s become a ritual, just in case.

Sometimes I chew gum like the nerves I wish I could devour,

ripping apart every insecurity between my teeth like tobacco

then gargling the liquid from cheek to cheek before spitting out

 a high that’s faded and needs to be discarded.

It’s not that I lack self-respect,

In fact I have plenty.

It’s just that it’s all simply been undermined

by her recurring part in my dreams, more than I can remember anyone else being.

Her starring role in my every other thought, like even numbers, higher than I can count.

It’s messing with my waking confidence,

and my head at any given time.

I scold myself over and over to no avail;

“What’s wrong with you?!?”

I reel myself in from impulse and exclamations

I want to shout when she strikes me a certain way, for instance

“I love you!” or “I want to have your babies!”

Which is crazy;

I don’t even want to make babies,

but all of a sudden I can imagine it happening

when I see her holding one.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop it!!”

I tell myself

but it comes out sounding more like a nursery rhyme than a penalty.

For the record, let it be known

That I put up a fight…

I simply lost it

somewhere between her white smile, virile hands and chameleon eyes.

It’s not that I don’t value my life and liberty,

I pushed her away like a menacing predator

until she pinned me down by my shoulders and the illusion of my pride

and kissed my forehead while I cried and stewed in anger.

As sure as the world is round,

I was always going to lose.

I have been possessed by my own desire

And I cannot help but wonder

Would you be more scared, surprised or charmed

if you knew just how much and how bad it all ran

like an addiction kept secret for the wellbeing of others.

Would you ever speak to me again

 after reading just one of these

like an ounce of my daily routine being shared like a needle?

As for the fight,

may the record show

that I tried, but simply lost it

somewhere between her insane eyes, unreal smile and carnal hands

like a hook to the jaw before hitting the mat face first.

As for how it all ends, all it really took was a glance.

Stick a fork in me, I’m done.

Throw in the towel and call over the ref.

For the lack of more eloquent terms, well

I’m…..

fucked.

9 Comments

  1. Very dynamic and free flowing — contrasting nicely with the subject matter of being totally hooked. This is excellent! Found your site via Ben Naga’s link. Have become a follower and plan to dig into the archives later on.

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