with no coat and missing shoes;
i made my bed in the snow,
buried my face against the ice,
and felt nothing.
skin sinking to pale blues with every hour,
(a faded variety against the colourless drapery called my complexion).
my veins crackled and snapped, icicles forming inside.
numb to the bone and core as i was the day you left.
staring into a dead sky, past fusain tree limbs,
the sound of something corporate seemed to take to the passing wind.
its pounding piano and cutting words
should have stung like the frostbite,
but instead swept me unconscious.
but i am Kristie not Konstantine,
and you spell konfusion with a J
..and? i don't like it.
asleep on the forest floor,
lifeless as you'd left me,
still as the day i watched you go.
though we'd stood motionless in the kitchen
and went nowhere at all;
you had left.
the you inside you had;
you let it go, fled, gave it up.
gave me up.
you canceled all our reservations
but forgot to tell me.
i kept showing up every day,
..but you were never coming.
one night you told me why you were a no-show and why i always sat alone;
but, the next morning you retracted all those reasons,
scribbled our names back into every book.
as we were,
as we'd been.
for the first time
i stopped living in the past
..experienced the present
...and believed in something called a future.
you were just content that your present
..wasn't as bad as the past
...and the future held no particular significance.
indifferent it all had become to you so quickly;
you checked out yet again,
and, this time for good.
you had a dream you once shared with me:
a vision, a plan, more than a wish.
i couldn't see it clearly at first,
but you painted me in and i purchased your artwork.
now it's dismantled;
and no amount of white-out could ever erase a plan that big.
but, you don't want to open the book anyway;
don't want to see it,
..because of me.
how i became the lamb so quickly,
the weak and feeble one between us two.
number the times my furrowed brows and darting eyes searched for something
on your face to hold on to.
so vivid are all the punches to the stomach,
all breath long extinguished from my lungs.
carvings that severed each auricle,
internal organs eroded from such
a debilitating disease.
with acidic tears just puddled inside,
they'd never surfaced to burn my cheeks.
my pillows upon the snow will have to take care of that part.
it shouldn't feel this way when
i've long learned not to hold trust in promises -
or intoxicated words where the truth is supposedly revealed.
they're always taken back in a sober sunlight,
replaced with attempted theory or erratic rationale.
hold fast to not one word (or smile even).
a drunk's a liar, Kristie.
don't fall for it.
just ....don't fall.
again tonight, i think i'll try to stand
with bare toes, thin pajamas;
and wander aimlessly in the dark.
dragging unsteady feet through the snow,
maybe an unexpected stick will pierce my sole
jolt any semblance of presence to my body.
i'd prefer a spear to the soul;
anything to waken me.
halfway to nowhere, i'll lie down
deep past anyone else's trodden paths.
beyond these hollowed trees and vacant branches,
stare a leaden gaze to the blackened sky and missing moon,
and appreciate feeling at home here.
in the emptiness,
maybe my home here in the wilderness will remind me:
..your place isn't in the woods.
so maybe i never really belonged....