Cantaloupe Juices

I wish you were on Skype. After last night both your unhappiness and my indulgence with the tootsie roll, I just want to see your face even if it is of you just sleeping.  I want to confess that I have smoked before that I actually did sleep with J.W and was bored the entire time,  I want to confess that I ingested mj last night and am still high even as I type this. I can feel its chemicals in my bloodstream, gathering in stagnant places like the tips of my fingers and the top of my head. It weighs me down and fills me with helium, making my inner ear lose its balance, this sea ship rocking, taking my overly tired brain on swirling tides, losing focus and forgetting direction. I am lost.

 Even in this drugged sluggishness I want to be near you, I want to breath you in and inhale your love into my breathless lungs. I want to curl myself, small and inconsequential, into the dips and curves of your body, till I am no longer big enough to matter. In this space I will lose the remaining parts of me. I will fall onto the depths of your alabaster skin and float somewhere between your glassy surface and sea bottom. My mermaid hair spilling out in all directions, pointing to all my lost thoughts. Ryn fill me, replace every last molecule of Nena and possess me. I don't want to think of time, or place, all else is other.

Your unhappiness scares me. I struggle finding that essential tight rope walker's balance. My footing is unsure and here this fall is full of broken glass. Sharp never ending shards sticking from my ribs; a sick crucified twisted tree. This will not break us me.  I want to pick you up and shake you while gently stroking your cheek.

 "Ryn, Ryn, Ryn", Ill say, "Wake up, this is not your life".

 I want to shout my remedies, force feed her my patriot doubt. But this is cruel reality where help is not a pill labeled Eat Me.

How will I know when to let you suffer because there are no cures and when to pick you up and cradle you in my arms till the storm passes?


I am trying so hard not to allow the things you say or do, while low, hurt but still my heart twists in my breast and I feel the stinging prick of tears forming below my eyelids.  I think that I would not be so cruel but I know any cruelty that I derive from you is only the poison I am sucking from your open wounds. Nothing is intentional. Still my heart seizes.

Oh Ryn what will we make of such a beautiful mess?

Nena