I have these lists that I have kept scrawled in journals
tucked in boxes, packed away under beds,
carved into the bathroom walls of apartments I no longer live in.
Left like little breadcrumbs to find me.
This is an undoing, this infernal upkeep
promises made to myself about the bone throwers
the open graves, the cold sheets, the flicker of the movie screen
behind my eyelids, the scratching and twitching, your nails on the window,
all the unrelenting questions from your ghost, but this year, I have had enough.
Maybe this will be the year of my undoing. My decaying.
After all it is January and we have started this cycle all over again.
I’m tired of all the waiting, you see.
So if anyone needs me, I’ll be outside, up on the roof of the building,
laying in the blanket of ice and snow, my hair dangling over the edge,
watching it grow long enough so that I can climb back down
and by then, you will all be gone and the spaces you occupied,
will be empty vacuums and in there and only there, I can get some sleep.
3 hours ago