for one, it’s like I’m cold.

for two like I’m gonna throw up.

I’ve done something wrong, been seen being,

wronging.

I would sob but ever is it wrong.

to be here is wrong.

to write here is pierced, sharp eagle

hunted. anyone could tell, it’s

all on my face. collected and

scrunched up in a migraine.

it may be too late for me.





there is a small part who knows.

who should not have asked for help,

should not have let it go. who should have

reached back out, clarified, gotten to

the bottom of it.

who should have seen it through. should have

kept its word. on the whole, I am not sure

whether I must go back and address it.

a hunch that I must. but the

conundrum looms impossible. I have revealed it

already, and once betrayed it cannot be unseen.

they know.





were I to acknowledge it, I cannot be sure how

they would respond. sabrina, katarina, jj and brad

and who knows how countless their ranks. today I

awoke to a blast furnace. pressurized memories.

is this what others do? do they agonize as I?

are they similarly afflicted? do they have the

fortitude to bring it out? do they stow it away?

is it okay? are they okay? am I? is it right?

can I blame them? does it make them bad?

are they wrong if they don’t? am I wrong?





must I? it scares me. I’m dragging my feet.

that’s wrong too, as well, also. everything.

they might laugh at me for trying. they might

tell me there’s nothing to apologize for. what then?

perhaps I should just give up. perhaps there is too much to ever address.

perhaps I should lay stuck in the mud. perhaps I let it eat me alive. perhaps I don’t care. perhaps I never wanted life.





and so it is hopeless. and there is no use trying.

never was.





It offends your sensibilities? mine. yours. who reads but brands the inside of their cranium? sizzling brain matter. hot iron poker.

are you scared? won’t you stay, then?

at my side now, I’ll hold your waist. I am firm. I do not waver.

the deadness of my eye sockets, the spread of my grin.

I am home.

you do not leave.

what a pitiful thing you are.





not for public consumption