the first of january, at some
point in the d(r)ead of night,
turned into the last of january.
january is like august in
some ways; a series of 2 am and
7 pm. yet unlike august -
bathrooms of peace and
serenity. blessed bathrooms.
promises. apologies.
the pain trickles off my back,
shoulder blades and mile long muscles
and endless
endless, like
salvation. like mercy.
god looks on me with sympathy.
i look on my
self with honesty. like a
wicked witch of the
west, there is blessing
in every curse.
dorothy, find your way home.
find your way home.
sit in a bathroom struggling
to breathe and wiggle home through
drain pipes and leaky taps.
want it, need it. yearn
and crave and yell to an empty
sky. hide your shock when it
responds. hide your
shock when
the angels have open arms.
january will
remain as history.
january will remain
it will always remain.
and i will always crawl back
to the bathroom
and curl up in
the single ray of sunshine
and walk out carrying it with me.
carry the love of the sun,
carry the brightness.
the stars are so beautiful
tonight they don’t
even look real -
too beautiful to be real.
far too much.
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