A Gentle Simmer

So I’ve shed remorse

But I’ve not forgotten how to mourn

I just put it off in such numerous ways

If I keep my hands busy

Then I can hold the pricking of my thumbs at bay

.

It’s a fantasy

How easy forgetting can be

Life goes on, and I let it

Contentment settles in

Like a mist,

Like a fog,

Like the steam from a frog boiling

~

I’m not sorry, I’m not sorry

Because I don’t think I’ll be caught

It’s not real if I can’t touch it

Let’s abandon higher thought

And just live hand to mouth

It’s easier this way

There’s nobleness in knowing

You, like all things, must decay

~

So I said the words

As if I’d forgotten how they hurt

The first time I heard them, I wanted to scream

But now I huff oxytocin

And, on the way, convince my lungs that I can still breathe

.

It’s a fantasy

That’s swiftly unravelling me

Call the pot and the kettle

And rework my threads

Into a cosy to hold

All their rust and their mould

~

I’m not sorry, I’m not sorry

Because I’m gasping to be caught

It’s not real until I touch it

Let’s abandon higher thought

And just live mouth to mouth

It’s easier this way

Full cowardice in longing

To be held while I decay