Bittersweet. in Always Recovering, Never Recovered.

My memory is alchemy: a halcyon haze of you and me, a utopian facimile of cosy, rosy unity in freeze-frame flash photography- entwined, combined, our minds aligned- a closed-circuit capture reminisced on, enraptured; retrospect blurring the scars of the fractures… finding future such a mystery, I’m gazing backward wistfully, and chasing after history.

It’s invigorating, excavating: reconstructing, recreating- your words: they’re still my thoughts, verbatim, issued as an ultimatum. It’s human archaeology, rebuilding that mythology in powerless apology; the same old methodology unearthing buried settlements in the pseudonym of betterment, a false face so benevolent, the lure of a cure for discontent.

Grown swiftly vacant with impatience, dazed and drunk on aspirations, I’m a braindead disciple of all your false idols: at the fallen altar of your church, built on bones and whipping-birch, I hang from the trellis we built from the relics, my noose weaved of the laurel wreaths I lay so readily at your feet, a willing participant in defeat.

Every day a procession of covert concessions, a concealed confession of yielding regressions, I’m a spineless possession of mindless obsession; prostrate in the face of your passive aggression. Back on my knees in resignation- in pliant silent supplication- to repeat by rote an education rampant with self-medication: retroactive de-contamination; a crude clandestine degradation, at the strangling-hands of desperation.

With vision a vignette caved in at the borders, narrowed in pursuit of obeying your orders; cold rivers of shivers flow free through my knees and my helium head is adrift on the breeze: dropping pretenses with trembling hands, dizzy and drifting, I’m seasick on land.

This is the ugly face of weak disgrace- the underside you slyly hide, in rhetoric and aesthetic lies- you’re a mouthful of sawdust that sparkles like stardust, offering emptiness gift-wrapped in glitter, the first kiss so sweet but the aftertaste bitter… and I’m beginning the ending all over again, in the two-faced embrace of a counterfeit friend.

A fool for your duplicity- replete in sweet complicity, in perfect synchronicity- we’re twirling, whirling, spiral-swirling; waltzing a breathless clifftop dance of brinksmanship and careless chance, brushing the boundaries of consequence. The absinthe labyrinth of your words- a euphemism of whispered rhythm, the softest song I’ve ever heard- is intoxication, indoctrination: you’ve always been my solid ground, the axis I revolve around; your obsidian eyes are the pull of the tide, the only home I’ve ever found: I fell into them once, and drowned.