Non-confessional
late last night -
early this morning, i
interrupt with a bright
smile -
while the dark was particularly light
you fought with someone
who looks like yourself,
the one arched over
inside your skull,
the one who
(with your eyes!)
sees the shadows in a mirror,
the one who wants to
(wants you to!)
hurl
something
at it:
a shoe, a flower pot,
your self-restraint.
later,
it will be this same person,
with her sussurations
bleeding up the darker creases
in your brain, who'd
offer some laughable thought:
don't you wonder
how things would be
if you could just
only just
hypothetically
theoretically
just think about
maybe
possibly
just
push away from the wrong side of a railing
tear away the formidable darkness
on the way down
and expose the dark's strange lightness
as gauze air on a bare
slight frown
a breath
then none. all doubt
in an instant
death, gone.
we are all filled with such demons.
the ruinous whispers of those thoughts
we suppress
behind curled lips, white smile,
those white sentinels
of a deeper darkness
that make you dimensional.