he lives deep in my mind,
sometimes singing a tune
sometimes whispering his
little thoughts sometimes
laughing softly sometimes
ignoring me completely and
sometimes just smiling to
himself;
some days I do not
mind his company, I
let him walk amongst my
desires and fears and annoyances
and hopes and aspirations and
jokes and tears and laughs
as though he were
merely a passerby on a
bustling manhattan avenue
but lately I scorn his
presence as he makes
keen observations
over his shoulder about
the things I see the things
I feel the things I think the
things I do not want anyone
not even myself to notice
“you love him” he whispers;
“but – you’re not what he
wants, are you?” “she’s not
the nicest but she has more
friends than you” “stand
tall” “say something” “coward”
“fight” “why hasn’t he called
you? If you are meant to be?”
“they all left you”
he shuts up when I
smoke my Mary and
when I lie back with
frank sinatra or drake
he awakens
when I drink my vodka
and when I sleep, he
disappears as I run,
pound the gravel, run
he awakens as I eat quietly
listening to the voices
around me
I try to drown him;
too much of my precious
liquor and I have lost him
and myself, there we are,
there we are on the ground,
too much of
my sacred fix, I need a fix
and I’m going down –
and I’m flying
too high for him to reach me
but the next morning he is there –
he is always fucking there –
sitting in his chair –
smirking and caressing a
knife that shall pierce my
heart until
his comments become
shouts his comments
become the only thing i
hear his comments
become
me
-aev
