i remember
walking to our nearest fast-food joint with stumbled words
washed out eyes
and the never ending "it won't be far now"
the west coast/the east coast
giggling at my severe partiality to predicament
blunt movements and flickering lights
which were sapped out of my eyes through my mouth
until there was no wind in my lungs
but a dull ache in my belly.

-

there's a hushed rapid thunder of people
swirling around my limbs
olympia's hand in mine
the gravity taken out of my $10 soles
floating violently in youth

and this time -
i smell of insecurity,
isolation,
fresh breath gum (professional practice mints),
cigarettes
and jerky limb movements in dark spaces

it doesn't take me long in this state to find a mirror of "the classical ideal"
my very own vitruvian boy
close to my vehement, purple-hued fingertips
"plaster on a honey-tempered smile and claim him", she says
the wisteria trails down my back, matching each digit faithfully
"the classical feminine"
and i know i am his match

i turn to him - he walks away as though i'm nothing
and swerves to build flesh on flesh.
his compeer is whispering acronyms in my ear
but, i really was nothing
(only dark spaces)
and i walk away from the other like he never even spoke.

it doesn't take long to realize that sort of duality
but it takes long enough to make it irreparable
(i'm so sorry i was to you what he was to me)

there's an aching sort of heavy in my gut
pulling me down into the dirt
and under the feet of the surrounding
that's why he's gone - he couldn't see me
from this far down

-

i'll repair it at 3am when the light is too bright and the heaviness is out of me, slurring
"they did this to you"
"they did this to you"
no.
you
did you
to yourself