31st January 2011

On the last day of the month a distant track failure causes
a stir,
a stir of silence.
As I watch the trees sway in the breeze
I wonder if they will stop or if I will see the
cloudy clouds move.
My phone vibrates;
I read my messages,
I check the time.
I so —

My music drowns out
the voices and the harsh sound of air from the ceiling,
hence, the music stops,
in my mind.
The drag of wheels on track
and the droop of my eyes in the black,
I want you back,
I want you back,
I want to get better.
I want the voices to stop.
I want the purple to disappear
and my paranoia dissipating
into the realms of forgetfulness.

I shed a tear;
I remember what it was that took us higher,
what made me change from a thief to a liar;
what brought us here.
What made us converse
over dreary days and dull matters,
when rain dripped down windowsills and stoves were full with pots of soup,
we sat on the couch.

I wrote and you spoke, then I stopped,
Then we held hands and we knew all would be okay.
The clouds would move again.