Clean clothes

Today I was doing laundry.
Washing all my white clothes.

Soaking them to pull out various stains,
Wine and grass,
Fresh strawberry marks on my summer dress.
I don't really mind if a few stains stay.
They are memories worked into fabric.

You are the red sock that got into my whites.
But I like the uneven spoiling of the pink.

Counting drugged sheep

I promised you I wouldn't take more than the recommended dose of cough syrup so I won't tonight, but this is normally the point where I'd pop a couple Gravols to get a few hours.

How many consecutive sunsets and rises have I seen through that open window, filtered through the screen. You suggest obtaining a prescription for some sleeping pills, but the way I take medication, I don't think I need anything heavy in this place.

There isn't a drug out there strong enough to mute my brain anyway, but sometimes even turning down the volume a bit is a relief.

Killing Me

The lamb's leg spiked, fingers pressed garlic into the wounds.
And then rosemary for fragrance.
Sawing.

Cheap kitchen knife with a red handle.

Reheated watery blood pools and pours

Right off the board.

My kitchen smells like a butcher's. 

You say how good dinner smells.

You always did like the taste of my blood.

Presence

It's funny how little things can set me off.

Walking around the apartment,

Straightening shoes,

Wiping the kitchen counter again,

Watering the plants again.

Deciding I hate my curtains.

I'll be sure to pick out a new set

Next week.

Then

Seeing your boxers in my laundry bin.

I stop.

Can't control the giddy smile.

They're the proof of life.

More than that,

Proof of you

In my life.

Artist

Salty eyes.

Salted chocolate.

Late nights alone.

The lamp in the corner

Casts unmoving shadows.

Everything still.

I am still.

In this bed, sitting upright,

Facing the empty easel.

There is a piece of canvas

Plastic-wrapped,

Dead for a year.

Should hold a funeral for its potential.

But I still like to look over at it.

One day maybe I will live boldly.

Lay the canvas down,

Pour out the primaries,

And make love on top of it.

But tonight,

All I've got is a whispered sigh

And unshaven legs.

Things Happen

Things happen,

And life moves forward.

But what do you do if you get stuck?

We are caught in a half-dimension of time.

You can't go back in time,

Up in time,

Down in time,

Just forward. Or, sometimes, you can stop.

Take in everything going by,

Leaving you behind.

It is the most relaxing,

Most terrifying experience.