interlude

Just a gloomy interlude, needed a break from my story. I don't feel like this now but I do have my moments.





i sit in my candy underwear on a piano bench wondering if your inadvertent gift of hope will be my curse.

i've been too sad to ever really trust my sadness and fully give in to it again.

but happiness nags at me still. i'm not quite as citrus sunny as the warm pink and orange stripes on my panties, the shiny satin bow on each corner of the straps of my bra.

there are sharp and flat notes in pairs and triads for my fingers to run down in insigificantly minor scales. i'm running through, black and white. your genius nags at me still. i question what i thought i could gain by associating with it.

i'm trying to combine sounds except i can't seem to work at it hard enough to get to what i want to hear. i don't care enough to make it work. more truthfully, there is nothing i can think of hearing.

it will be the same you see. you will ask me, i will say nothing. i will sit here and try to play. i will have nothing. i will ask myself what i contributed that was new. and get nothing.

when i first started talking to you in real life, i felt you and i used you. i needed to feel that again, feel like i could be all that again. i listened to new music, starting with yours. i had one haunting tune and wrote the same bar over and over again. i wrote a poem or two and thought it meant i was being reborn.

i was just patching. your inspiration my cover. maybe you were used to people plugging into you. maybe you took your livewire for granted, as a matter of course?

it didn't matter that you were real, not the spotless beacon i seem to paint you as here. your talent at engaging me like i was already a part of it all felt real enough, was all that mattered.

i've felt alive by association, dead by comparison, a billion other things in between.

and now just nothing, you can't do anything for me if i can't do it myself, i should have known this all along.

i have woken up some mornings and understood and felt just right and stepped into a day that sat well within me.

but these have been immediately followed by days i can't remember, sandwiched between mornings and midnights where thoughts on clothespins got hung out for me to watch dry, detached.

i've felt like something's been muddied and i cannot remove the stain.

today has been such a day, tonight, such a night,

i look at my hands, my underwear, my vision of you, the piano keys. it is all brown.

i feel something like a cry come on, and i stifle it with a yawn. i go to bed.