horizon point

"I've seen horizon points that stretched beyond my imagination. They lead to porches and cats. I've learned to not follow horizon points. They only disappear and leave hallucinations. I'm allergic to cats and I've never lived in a house with a porch."

you're like cyanide to me
i would crunch you at the back of my mouth
like a suicide capsule

i duck out of questing arms trying to find their way
across my shoulders,
i slide my hand out of warm palms,
and smile tightly when told 'i love you'.

music halts and hiccups, playing in my ears only
as a dance to a beat that exists solely in my head
they say 'find kindred spirits'
but the people like me
are the opposite of what i want

i want the brightness of uninhibited facial expressions,
the concern over sickness,
the unquestioning gaze
i want everything i gave up

is it worth it
to look and find a new start
and leave behind established trust?
i'm starting to wonder

as old people tease me about coffee
and new people note with disinterest that i only drink tea
where old people know to avoid the topic of my grandfather
but new people ask about the other woman in the photograph

i feel like life's a hurricane
and i'm the stereotypical cow
that's been swept up in the mess
and sure i may have escaped the farm but i also left the grass behind

hush don't speak
i tell myself i'm too brash
even when i laugh loudly to cover up my tears
and remember that i hate the sound of my laughter

and depression
-no, we're not starting on that.
i'll cringe when the new people converse calories
whereas the old people counted hours

and i count the skittles i don't eat
can't leave six, can't leave seven, can't leave nine
but three, five, eight is fine
i sip obsessively - four times is good, four times is good

and today i drew sixty blue-pen dots on the back of my hand
they swirled like galaxies
and i washed it off like it was a sin and forced myself to draw three swirls 
- even though three shouldn't go on my hands, no

so i run my hands through split ends of hair
and wonder why i think that
if someone were to cut my veins open
they would find the taste of you and type leaking out

even though now you're gone- 
maybe you were never there my mind whispers
like the devil's advocate
as i quiver like a glass of water in an earthquake

and then i fall
and shatter on unforgiving floor
and i crunch on my cyanide.

The End

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