B. Diehl
Xanax & ChocolateWhen the clock’s hands strangle
the honeymoon phase, I’ll remember today. When the laughter turns to crying and we glare more than screw –– when the passion starts to shrivel in a drought of lust, I’ll remember today. When this quiet bedroom becomes a full-blown warzone and our hearts are fighting to the death –– when flower-vases shatter upon peeling-paint walls, I’ll remember today. I’ll remember today –– your hand on my chest, your Xanax tongue against the roof of my mouth. Today: before “darling” and “baby” are replaced with “asshole” and “douchebag.” Before a light caress turns into a close-fisted punch. Before my knees are bruised from begging you to stay. Today: before our chocolate charisma melts in the poison sun. Before the thorns grow bigger than the head of the rose. Today, you are far from gone. Your eyes are loyal dogs. They do not wander. They’re fixed on me as though I’m made of something pure. But even as you’re perched on my bed with that firecracker grin, and the past and the future simmer in the dreamy heat from the present –– and even as you lean in for another kiss while everything around us runs like fresh paint on the hottest day of the year, I think you should know that I already miss you. Speed DialYou used to be first on my speed dial list.
You said I could call you on nights when the devil on my shoulder dressed the angel in flames –– when he stuck his pitchfork in my ear, twisted my brain until I forgot how to feel and so I pressed lit cigarettes into my wrist. Whenever I called, the hum of your voice would cradle my screaming-infant heart; it would remove the edge before I could swan-dive right off of it, crashing straight through the rotted ceiling of a run-down psychiatric ward. You used to be first on my speed dial list, and I was yours as well. You’d turn to me when your dad got drunk and the liquor kicked holes in the walls. You said you could never smile again after he burnt your teeth in the fireplace –– family photos reduced to black smoke. And that was the evening I could hear him through the phone, punching the door of the empty refrigerator (as if it wasn’t his fault he traded the food stamps for booze). And the saddest part was when your mom called 911: the first number on her own speed dial list. That night, I came to get you. I had forgotten to take my antidepressant that day, and the pessimistic horses of my mental carousel were spinning so fast that I swerved off the road. And we almost hit a tree but you grabbed the wheel and saved us, steering the car into a McDonald’s parking lot where we ended up making out while 3 homeless guys watched. Public affection had never felt so right. You used to be first on my speed dial list, and you grinned like crazy when I showed you because you realized I put you in my phone as Wonder Woman. I wasn’t even a comic book fan. The last hours I spent with you were on the roof of your dad’s garage. You were about to go off to college in California. You wanted to be a domestic violence counselor. I couldn’t talk you out of leaving when it made so much sense. I couldn’t even bring myself to try. So we just sat there together through dusk and twilight, waiting for the morning clouds. Uninspired but not alone, we then watched those clouds –– those cloud-shaped clouds –– and my hands shook like departing freight trains even though I was the one staying. You used to be first on my speed dial list, now I don’t even have your number. |
HeliumWhen I heard the news,
it hit me like fire –– melting flesh from my ears, cremating friendships. It couldn’t have been fate when control of your vehicle was lost. It couldn’t have been fate when you veered off of the highway, when you were pronounced dead at the scene-- death by impact with a living tree. Fate doesn’t play with devilish ironies. Fate is not that cruel. Right now, to say that “God works in mysterious ways” would be an insult to God. There was no divinity hidden in the twisted steel, the smoking branches. This was not meant to happen. The world will never sleep again. I’m taking the airbags out of my car, pumping them full of helium, letting them go, watching them transcend this black cloud of mourning. I know it’s too late to save you, but it will always be too early to forget. Cherry PerfumeIn my hand is a to-do list with nothing crossed out.
I feel anxious, yet sluggish –– like I want to get up, but can’t. I think my OCD and Major Depressive Disorder are in a boxing match or something. There is a throbbing on the right side of my brain. Across my bedroom, I see the cactus you got me last month. The cactus is dying now. I don’t water it anymore. I don’t do anything anymore. HumansYou'll find them sacred, holy,
and blameless. They'll build walls inside your brain to keep out the facts. Their malice will be invisible beneath wooden-toothed smirks –– bleached feet and hands. They'll take you out of your original packaging, cover your body with nicks and dings. They'll smash your whole world with a sociopathic sledgehammer. You'll never see it coming. Look for the white bandages on their knuckles. Wait for the fast kisses –– fast kisses like fast food leaving you with a sobbing stomach. Even if they love you, their souls are wolves. They'll claw through your abdomen, tangle your entrails, watch entertained while the blood soaks their fur. When they perch themselves like gargoyles on the foot of your bed, do not fall asleep. Do not be a fool for their puppy eyes. They aren't real. Look closer. There are no tears. These creatures will raid your fridge, your wallet, your car, your spirit. They’ll brush their teeth with your plasma, wipe their asses with your richest art. They’ll get in bed with your friends and screw their minds right out of their skulls. They’ll put your cat in the microwave and masturbate to your tears. They’ll craft crowns out of your flesh and place them upon their heads while they retire to their greed-colored thrones. They want to feel powerful. They want to extract your self-esteem with unsterilized tools –– make you call them “master” while you polish their shoes. They want to tell you you’re wrong for having self-respect. The one thing to remember is that naivety is a cancer. It will ransack and pollute your vital organs. Trust is always phase one of a war. But humans like to feed on the hearts of others. So consider yourself saved if yours is already poisoned. |
