#pov second
you’re stuck somewhere in the middle,
first person but at a remove.
there’s a ghost typing these letters
sluggish motion
drifting through air thick as jello
as implacable and impossibly fluid as non-newtonian liquid
am I the observer or the observed?
you’re not sure you can tell the difference anymore.
is there a difference?
I’m resting my forehead against a thick pane of glass
the coolness dissipating under the hot fog of your breath
condensation clouding my vision
your tears wet and hot and silent
slipsliding down skin
to splash against the clear backdrop
I’m smiling now, and laughing,
you’ve just made a clever joke,
a quick one-liner response
automatic and easy as breathing
easier, even
you’re idly thinking about buying an oximeter
there’s never enough oxygen in the air around here
I don’t mind the high of it, though
it makes it easier, sometimes
you don’t need to breathe.
you’re just a ghost
and I am a haunted house.
as a protagonist, you are not particularly sympathetic.
you alienate the audience.
they don’t like taking the time to translate you
and make do with cheap transcripts
and their own opinions.
[02.01.22]
you know that the stars
are never going to just fall
into alignment
you are never going to receive
a holy sign
.
but it’s the first of the month
and people are reblogging your poems
and maybe right now
that can be enough–
.
here is your mission, should you choose to accept it:
twenty eight days.
twenty eight poems.
.
take up your pen.
write.