my mother is gone. no longer
can i call her on the phone, hear the smile
in her voice. i sit in the dark
thousands of years away from that moment
and picture home. watching the waves & the
wild of the sea quietens me, in my mind
something stills, just for a moment
the anxiety stops. the thoughts never stop.
my mind is never silent, turning over the strangest things, thoughts flip.
glass is really a liquid. i used to stare at
windows in between sentence & fixate, on this.
glass is molecules. it exists in the space between water, and structured reality. it is amorphous, like our bodies. it will warp, but can bend more than us
before it breaks. eventually everything shatters.
once i broke down. i was absent, missing
vocal sound. i have thought & thought
about where i went that year. i have no answer.
walls are still, but they hear & see
everything we do. i drop food on the floor,
see particles in my mind decomposing. breaking down, pulling away, radiating outwards towards the point of absorption. rotting skin, ants, worms, writhing maggots move all around. i feel them crawl
spreading over me.
i can’t stand to be. here, anymore.
my brain is malfunctioning. decomposing
from the second we are born, we are withering. dying from the inside
rotting out, like my mother.
i close my eyes. she speaks to me. she is gone. she is gone. she is gone. the reality of her absent form repeats,
she sits beside me.