Lean myself up against the bathroom sink. Forearms turned in on themselves. Backwards. Red, inflamed knuckles holding on for dear life, losing their breath and looking up at my face to say what the fuck. It’s all a little desperate. Metacarpals making any attempt to grip the counter to counter the little pleads of my body to

sink.
sink.
sink.

into the floor. Such a losing battle. Water on the counter. It’s slick. These emotions, life: they’re goddamn slick. Negate all the control you’re trying to grasp. Grasp at like straws. Like wet noodles in the pool. To keep you afloat. Keep you from slipping. Down into the water. Slipping down the slippery slope into the shouts of your mind. Shite, I really got to get back to my date. He’s waiting on the bed, naked. Probably running his hands down his thighs as if that’s seductive. And I’m here in the water closet trying not to drown.

Suddenly, palms give up. Say the jig is up. Move into a prayer position. And I fall forward. Into the mirror. Hard. I smash.smash.smash any illusions of recovery. Smash that glass into my forehead. Little chunks to pick out as you come up behind me. Place your hands on my shoulders. Give me a little rub. No. No. No. Repeat no 3 times like it’s a goddamn magical mantra to get you to Go.Go.Go.The. Fuck. Away. Coo in my ear, you know you ain’t nothing without me, baby. Come. Come. Come back to me again, Sadness. You’re still not my ex-boyfriend yet.

I’ve been yours for years
And now we’re back at nothing
When did we grow old

_______________________________________________
Walk back to the bedroom. Together, you and I. My ex and I. The ex that never lets me go. Whom I depend on. To get me through any moment that feels too real. Sadness as a boyfriend was perfect for me. Doesn’t care about your aspirations. Your hopes. Doesn’t pretend any dalliance with him is a moment to dare to dream. Suck his dick and he’ll still ignore you. What a dick. Always the same, no matter how many times you court his cock. Break up with him, and he’ll say he’s the New Coke. Same Coke formula, just an altered smile. He’s slick. Treats you like a corporate whore, knows you’ll buy into his advertising.

Let the guns go off
Let the bombs explode
Let the lights go dark
Life is good

But when you need him. Throw him an invitation on Manhunt, for a sexy little threesome. To crawl into bed with you, your date, and all the emptiness of the space between the sheets. He’s there. To set little bombs to go off. In your eardrums, so you don’t hear your date’s moans. Your meek attempt to remember to moan. He’s there to shoot guns into the air. Call back all the ghosts you carry inside you. Spectres of sex to come out your mouth and sit on his shoulder. And watch you. Laugh. Point judging digits. Fuck with your concentration, the ability to stay present. Your date may pound you, but the pounding is picayune. Always, you’ll come back to him. Won’t even be polyamorous with you.

Oh, just once
You’ll see the ones I’ve lost
But how would I know
To see the ones I’ve loved?

__________________________________________________
My poor fucking date. Fucking me without a care in the world. Not aware. Not knowing. All that lives inside me. Not strong enough to tell Sadness to take his dirty heels off these white sheets. To wipe himself off the clean slate we’re trying to mark with the moments my skull slams back into it. In passion. In throes of freedom. Let him back in my life. He let me down. I knew he would. Sadness has never been a person. But he’s wrapped his legs round every one of my dates, unsuspectingly.

Been away for all this time.

Even in my own bed. Time to do pull-ups off this date’s back. Squats with him. And get strong enough to kick you the fuck out.

23

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