Catharsis #2

I wrote a piece about you.
And I wanted to feel better while I was performing it.
Maybe a little like I was getting revenge,
But instead
I felt all the emptiness multiplied by a hundred
And I wanted to curl up into a snail shell and shatter myself into glass-like pieces in a dark catacomb-y cathedral with a vaulted ceiling: burning like a grand sacrifice to a Norse god
Like...
Odin hung on the tree and stared down into the abyss and knew everything
And I stared down into the abyss and it simply grew deeper
And swirled unfathomably into orbits and planets and new-nothingess
And at the end of the piece when I sat alone center stage
I could not swallow my grief
So I drove home with it
Sat in the driveway alone.  Stared at the navy sky and the empty stars and the carcass of the moon.
Slipped under water.  Stared out.  Tried to speak.
Let my lungs fill,
Re-attached the puppet strings.
The black ones that held me in the marionette position: elbows angled, mouth upturned, eyes staved open.  My held tilted.
I stared out.  Blank.  Lonely...


                          I keep expecting a response from you.
 


                             I am both shocked and relieved each time my inbox is empty.