Coagulating Perspective

The seconds drift into minutes, cascade into hours. Relativity floats subtly past and pools around perspective’s esophagus. Waiting is the fierce tick of a sequestered heart. Tracking time, by counting blood cells sailing through a clotting current. Labored lungs grasp at tiny red buoys, flagged with markers of understanding. It’s become harder to comprehend the notes I left myself. I tried so hard to hammer that nail into memory; I bruised knuckles from exasperated swings. never thought I had the strength to sever the yoke of what bound my soul to yours. But I swung, and I swung and I swung. Until I drove you away. I thought it would kill the pain; fooled my body into taking the blame so I could have peace. But now I wish I could feel anything but this sordid repeal of discernment I let my body confuse with mending. I clutch each cell between aching hands, and demand it’s clarity; tighten my grip when they squirm and feel the pangs of past; remembering the agony of losing you all over again. For fear of suffering memory, I risked losing myself. I couldn’t breathe… burying myself in bloody denial. I almost let my need of you coagulate to the point of my body’s repose. You were once something vital, a brilliant spark of something magical much like serotonin at the perfect levels.. I don’t know what made us bleed. But you’ve scabbed over.. You’ll probably itch for a long time, reminding me that love is often less than divine. And every now and then, you might feel a sharp nail grinding against your surface like a dry tongue searching for the comfort of water. Don’t be afraid, that’s just me counting the minutes, trying to remember how to breathe. -James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.