Don't Know Anymore

I awoke today visualizing your hands,
escaped the well just in time
to get up out of bed.

And I cannot breathe,
the music attempts to serenade the tears
but I continue to bleed evermore.

I cannot speak to anyone,
every other person tries to console
but it is not you who thumbs the drops.

I cannot conduct conversations,
others leap in to save a soul
but no words cure this longing.

I cannot stray from those songs,
Upbeat is sporatic
but I crossover immediately after.

I cannot race up those stairs,
5 o'clock teases my thrill to be home
but I will never open the door again to see you.

I cannot rest on those pillows,
the lavender scent is straining to satisfy
but it is your scent I crave.

I cannot smile for tomorrow,
the sun carefully crafts a surprise
but my dreams of you never come true.

I cannot defeat this depression,
my therapist instructs to step away
but when I step away I fear you will be gone.

Fragile

I can't afford to be disappointed,
no answer
and I'm pulled through the cracks
of that sofa.

I can't afford to imagine what I don't know,
my hands clench the sides of my bed
and my pelvis spasms
to the shock of your physical deterioration.

I can't afford to listen to that song,
"When they ask me what pulled me through
I'll say it was you,"
the tears cannot keep up with the truth.

I can't afford to see your name,
'just look away'
and I can continue to step forward,
just missing the impact of a train.

I can't afford to think of your seasons of hair,
just waiting,
I shall wait forever to see the seasons pass
while the "world spins madly on."

I can't afford to see new pictures,
I then near the end,
the residue from your footprints
rises into air faster than my control.

I can't afford to see your face on that oval,
smell those dead flowers,
or read your devastating words,
so it remains tucked away in that drawer
where I keep the last chapter of your life.

I miss your desire to surprise me in my greasy black attire at 9:30pm on a weeknight with your duffelbag over your shoulder. On your black and yellow bullet you'd then briefly vacate two hours away at 4:30 the next morning and return the next night in a speed stream after 5.

You see, most people don't bleed during the minutes away from their love. Most individuals can wait an entire day. I remember driving up north on dark, unknown, windy roads at 10pm and having to leave 7 hours later. The time with you was just never enough. No matter what we were granted, on either of our clocks, I sat through each tick of a second, wondering where your head lay, where your feet roamed, whether our arms could intertwine just once more, just a million more.

"He passed away..." and I cannot breathe.

Stuck

I hate this world you left behind.
Nothing satisfies a lonely heart.
Your grin I cannot bare,
imprinted in my mind,
I remain wishful
that I will see it to my left.

I hate this unfulfillable addiction.
These body aches can never find you.
Yearning for someone under ground
is like trying to plow
towards the center of the earth.

I hate that my feet remain glued.
I cannot move if you remain on a photograph.
Further and further away,
time gradually is pulling me away
from the one love that changed my life.

I hate that my heart is not the leader.
Outside chaos without you has invaded my heart.
Lacking your carefree spirit in sight
has fueled my attempts
to seek it out until I'm in flight.

I hate that a sentence sends me fleeting.
The pressure boils to the surface.
And then I remember even during the storm
being tucked in with your arms
wrapped tightly around my tears.

I hate that I still reach for your shoulder.
I hate that I still say your name in playful banter.
I hate that I still mimic your mannerisms.
I hate that I still say "we".

But most of all
I hate that I never find that mole on your left shoulder.
I hate that I never hear you say my name or talk about the first time you heard "Kristin" and was intrigued.
I hate that I never can pause to stare at your wide open smile or joker playing out from your tattoo.
And among all things that I cannot change, I hate that we can never be "we" again.