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In Another Life (Daisy Chain)

In Another Life (Daisy Chain)

You and I
were once the two separate sides
of the same electrical cord;
often tangled between each other,
building knots and kneading bundles of bridges
on top cedar, oak and birch floorboards.

One evening I broke my back
bracing myself into high beams
to build us a humble home,
with sky-high ceilings,
auxiliary offices on every sixth floor
and underground parking lots
for our hordes of indoor slippers
and outdoor shoes.

I remembered how my arms
baled around your body in the bed,
how your beige eyes blinked mindlessly,
beaconing endlessly up and into my angles.

I remembered you swaying softly
while I held my breath and folded my limbs,
meshing my tissue fibers together
to transform into a hammock,
holding onto the thought that you

could never despise this haven, this asylum, this shelter
I assembled for the two of us.

But I shrugged it off,
convincing myself those clusters of sparks
slugging off your skull were signs you loved me back,
but really they were just empty shells of a warm shotgun.

I passed out,
waking up to the fumbling dance
of a fire no longer flickering
but instead loitering leisurely
on top where scars foamed up on our flesh
and flakes of skin were filtered across fissuring gaps
upon the charred up floorboards.

I blamed myself,
battering the bullet point
straight into the streetlines of my brain
that I was a buffoon for not hearing you beg for mercy.
Nowadays in my sleep, I wonder often
if you tried slithering out to escape.

Or what would’ve happened if you slipped a sliver
of a whisper into my ear to tell me:
“Please stop suffocating me in my sleep.”

Or what would’ve happened if you slammed your shoulder
into my stomach and seethed your teeth
into my skin while you screamed:
“Let me out!”

Or what would’ve happened if you slit my eyelids
away from sitting shut to let me see the signs
that I was doing too much in such a short amount of time.

Or what would’ve happened if I stopped thinking
and actually tried to save you;
instead of reminiscing these tragedies
and turning them into scattered tattoos
to commemorate for the next lifetime.

“Oh my god;

so sorry”.