mistakes made twice

mistakes made twice

that sound that’s in the air,
that rings in your ears constantly during silence.
the hum.
the uncomfortable wait.
the “somebody, please, say something!”
another heart beat drops.
each minute you lose another piece of yourself.
numb hand.
numb arm.
numb face.
why did I do this?
eyes flicker on and off like high beams.
why couldn’t I have stayed home?
that split second the light goes out.
off by a millimeter.
tarnished hands hold the hour hand tightly.
the uncomfortable wait.
I close my eyes and imagine it didn’t happen.
imagine it’s 2008 and I’m there with my bushy tail.
I close my mouth and I hear my thoughts.
I wait for once.
for twice.
what am I doing?
really.
the hum.
that hum is deafening –
defining.
I close my mind and turn out the night.
I’ll file you under mistakes made twice.

M.

Her.

The thoughts and feelings that extend from these fingertips, these hallowed lines of flesh; they’re like no one else’s.

I have my own set of unique life prints that cannot be copied.

In a moment of explosion my eyes are closed – like driving under bridges,  passing transport trucks, the predictable scary part in a movie, like a first kiss.

The best things in life aren’t seen, but felt.

Cold engraves a signature on my cheek. No one else will touch this place again with the same feeling.

When my heart is open I expect a gentle guided hand, not a sword of rusted valor.

Sometimes I wonder if I act without soul. I wonder if she follows behind me and shakes her head when she sees I’ve done wrong.

I wonder if she tries to put a hand on my shoulder and say enough’s enough. I wonder if she is a she, or if she is a he, or if there is nothing but room temperature air and I’m talking to myself.

I wonder if she thinks of me and smiles like when I think of her.

M.

Mandy Poole