I know that speaking the terrifying words of sickly truth about a past too ugly and damaging to remember paints a dripping red letter on my back. I’ve had to look into the eyes of smiling faces, watching them turn to empty stares; never smiling at me the same way again. I’ve had to wave smiling as the backs of people I called friends disappear into the blurry summer night, never to be seen or spoken of again. As if knowing is the same thing as having to have fucking lived it.
They shy away, hurt like a wounded animal, slinking off and whimpering like they can’t stand it. I may be wounded, but I'm surviving. I've been blending and dodging, blocking and running my whole life. There's a big difference between crazy and broken.
Broken is being smashed onto the floor and having all the shards swept to the corners of the room, with some of them shoved down the vents, and tossed out windows into the yard, so you can never be glued back together. Crazy is thinking the haunting destruction that has decimated my life will somehow leap from my veins and also take you out.
Just leave if things are too overwhelmingly dark, don’t say you are waiting with your hand out, only to run at the last second as I reach for it in desperate need of support. Sniveling for help as if you were assailed in the dark. Yours is the last hand I ever reach toward. I will never again be sent sprawling onto my face, left with no means to evade my fate; my mind is always prepared to execute a solo escape.
K.B. Silver
About the Creator
K.B. Silver
K.B. Silver has poems published in magazine Wishbone Words, and lit journals: Sheepshead Review, New Note Poetry, Twisted Vine, Avant Appa[achia, Plants and Poetry, recordings in Stanza Cannon, and pieces in Wingless Dreamer anthologies.
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CH 20~ Party Down
Argento’s ninth (eighteenth in earth years) Birthday came and went Thursday, the thirteenth, and he’d already received his father’s gift, if you could call it that. You had to commit a fairly serious infraction to be cut off; the Arch-Baron was keeping up appearances and maintaining his own reputation as much as any sense of love or attachment to Argento with his “gift.”
By K.B. Silver Exclusive • 7 days ago
Comments (2)
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This is heavy. I know what it’s like to be left behind. I have been the 24 seven Caregiver for my very sick mom now for 4 1/2 years. I used to have a good amount of friends before I started taking care of her. But now nobody ever answers the phone when I call. Nobody ever calls me. I never get invites out to dinner or lunch or anything. That or something. I’m still alive. I do have a friend or two that will call once every blue moon. yes I don’t realize that calling me, even though I’m almost always busy with my mom, is very much needed. I need to hear the voices of my friends. I need those phone calls. It would be nice for them to even pop over. I let them know that they are welcome anytime to come by and visit at my house. But they rarely do. I guess I’m asking too much. But I don’t know what you’re talking about. I may not be the one who is sick or broken. But I guess in a sense I am broken. I hope that things can’t get better for you.