And I sit here calmly erasing you
With secret gregarious tendencies
As my mind stares impassively back at me
Then coldly turns and walks out the door.
Smoke wreathing my hair
As empathy drifts, wraithlike, around my head
Dancing against and through a funeral shroud for you.
My eyes close and my brain forces itself clamshell-tight
An instinctive self-defensive uncontrollable reflex
To shield my frightened shrinking mind from your fear.
I want to hold you for hours
Stroke your hair
Tell you everything will be alright
I can't stand to see you so defeated.
We are living in our bones and the bones of our mothers
Intertwined amongst the picket fences and rose bushes.
Am I cooler than a dirigible?
Are the shadows mocking us, or is that just the insomnia talking?
Do I have a problem with suppressed rage, or are the tea leaves telling me to smash the china against the wall and paint the room earl grey?
Why won't you let me be your lightning rod?
Her hands shrunk and paled and twisted and I hid my face so she couldn't see how upset I was; if I'm not strong, cold and emotionless, how can she be?
I climbed the branches as she pointed to all the lovely fruit already lying in the cold, wet ground, but I laughed and climbed higher as it began to rain, and the sun sank behind the trees and gilded every drop beaded in her honey hair. I became a cloud and wept to see her so far below.