unraveling

there is a desperation in the way she clings 
to all the things
that were the real of those days when remembering
what never happened and writing
it down seemed to make everyone dance and sing down where everything
felt right or if not right then at least a tingling
jangling
electric sort of unright but now it’s all coming
undone and there isn’t a way to get back to the time of those days when remembering
what would’ve been so wonderful and writing
it down seemed to make everyone laugh and cry down where everything
felt right or if not right then at least a ringing
screaming
nuclear sort of unright but now it’s all coming
unraveled and there isn’t a way to get back to anything
resembling
the time of when looking
back on what could have been perfect and performing
it seemed to make everyone applaud and throw roses for her because everything
felt right or if not right then at least a shuddering
waking
sort of unright but now it’s all fumbling
apart and there isn’t a way to get back

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Go ahead -- say something. Anything.