The aftermath

{The silence that follows a fight is still a fight in the making}



It’s like a vague and somber cloud
Puffy and lazy and heavy
Down my throat
I feel oblique.

My whole brain is twisted
My soul is tilted
My eyes slide along edges
Of too many reasons
To want to run.

But I stay here
I stay put
Sitting on my chair
Sitting on my buttocks
Falsely comfy
Nonchalantly misleadingly at ease.

Am I fooling him?
Do I want to?

Two cards from the same deck
Back to back
Ignoring their hands
Ignoring the odds
Not betting.

No one talks.
Who will say the word first?
Who will break the protective silence
That allows us to hide
Hide the feelings
Hide the pain?

If I do I will tear
The delicate fabric
Of that too fragile curtain
I will lacerate with my knife cutting syllables
The last chances of peace
I will push us down
Push us further
Push us still.

If I don’t I will blow
explode, violate my own violence
I will break
More later
So much more
There is no hope for redemption in that brain
Of mine.

Help me
Make it through.
I need to make it through.