The Poem I Wrote For You at 2:22

In the bath with bubbles

made from shampoo,

after my friend’s funeral,

our bodies on opposite sides

legs gently intertwined,

I run my fingers over the top

of your thigh poking through

delicate tracing

your Baphomet tattoo.

A red candle flickers in the mirror,

you lean into me and I listen to you

Talk about the fears that linger

from people who told you

you’re nothing but a dreamer:

and of the worst kind!

affective poison

to your self-concept as they know it—

They never knew you

—like I did.

Deflections of broken dreams,

—projections

with addictions you (we) adopted

to cope with afflictions of abuse you (we) self-inflicted

because that’s what you (we) learned you (we) deserved.

We deserve so much more.

I feel you ache hollow

with tears that don’t come, won’t come,

and despite your best efforts,

I hear your internal screaming

you're a prisoner of your own mental making.

(Or so you think?)

Who truly is the Maker making?

For Two many decades long, too many days gone

so f*cking wrong

you hummed this familiar haunting song

from which the solace of melancholy

just… doesn’t end.

And you don’t understand how

or why

this is where your efforts got you,

landed amongst grains of sand

tests of time

remnants of castles

of dreams that, by nature of what they were,

could never

would never

last—you knew—burdens!

F*cking burdens!

The road of karmic pasts

paved with the same silicone glass,

disintegrating with the wind,

drowning with the waves,

gone before you can even grasp

the shade of the looking glass

you’re looking back on,

looking back through

before you notice it’s looking back at you

—Is this a dream or a nightmare?

Did we choose wrong?

Does it matter?

I bring you back from the edge

of your mind’s racing

You’ve been there too many times.

by tracing

your Baphomet tattoo

poking through our bubbly bath bubbles

made from shampoo,

and I know my inner child speaks to you:

No matter what, I still love you.

I knew you back then and I see you now.

but, Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.

Pain and healing has made a man out of you.

I pray to God

You hear my whisper above the roars

"Are you listening, Son?"

of your father echoing as your own mind,

That’s not your voice at all!

but salvation is always found in divine right time,

so I hope you don’t mind

I’m keeping a secret about the fate of…

...

Through the looking glass,

the red candle flickers

and I see the future,

while you try and heal the past.

Not now, not now.. and not back then

Okay, but if not now, when?

Time came and went.

And came and went and came and went again!

These moments between us are a gift

and we struggle to stay present.

We grapple silently

with our fears of consequences

from which

f a

l

l

i n

g

with one another

comes absolutely

no repentance.

Are we even deserving?

Of this fear?

“Am I crazy?”

You ask.

I respond.

I have no fear No matter what happens,

of the red candle that flickers I’m just fine with that.

double in the mirror I’ll always have this time

Of you and me, my dear. in our Wonderland bath.