That is what I am waiting for.
Because honestly there have been truckloads of bad
dumped like dead fish on the dock.
Like the sickness and the death
and the fog of sadness
that creeps over me
snipping that little string that keeps me tied to this earth
so that there is nothing but this humming sound when you talk
and nothing but this numbness
like my limbs have gone dead
and my hands are just lumps of meat
and it’s going to take
a lifetime to pick up the fork again.
Don’t even ask me about eating
because these days,
I have trouble getting anything down my throat
when people are sitting across from me,
Men and Women
who converse over the meal, cause that is what we do.
We talk, we eat,
but so many times I can’t stand to watch it.
I can’t stand to eat in front of you.
But these are my old demons that I got locked up for already.
Thin lipped doctors and nurses with big asses,
and the other girls, preening over their lovely bones
which poke right through
their stretched, scraped skin.
They told me I could go. I was “cured”
so I shouldn’t worry so much.
Except that when the words fail,
as they can do so often
that gnawing feeling comes back again
and when hunger is the only thing that cuts through the numbness
there are worse things, after all.
but I’m still waiting on the good.
That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it?
It’s cold out and the air is thin.
The sidewalk is nothing but a sheet of ice
running down to the waterway.
And I’m waiting.
I got all night.
For the good parts.
3 hours ago