Vicky Pointing
Incarnate
She knows the feel
Of dazed drunken embraces.
Cold lips and numb fingers
Make ready for awkward silence in the daylight,
Mercifully ending in a fast escape.
The momentary amnesia,
The tiny spark of comfort,
Is crushed by the apathy of it all.
This is not love,
But some crippled expression of fear and need
Which is ignored
As soon as it is made.
She cannot understand why you would choose this always.
This is not love,
And you know it.
This is just easy.
You told her once how it makes you feel.
And she knows that you search for something
In places you cannot hope to find it.
Your love is in the past
And you cannot redeem it.
And that’s what makes you angry,
So utterly miserable
That you go out and fill your veins with drink
Until you are beyond caring.
Until you are beyond your furious regret.
But you can never quite escape it,
No matter how hard you try,
Collecting cheap comfort
In a desperate bid for indifference.
When your comfort is gone,
You always remember.
She knows all this
And all she can do is stay silent,
Biting her tongue until it bleeds,
And watching you drive yourself to nothing.
Page(s) 90
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