You have the same name as my dead lover, that is why I cannot be close to you. It's not your fault, I know. It's just that that dead lover is my most recent dead lover. Having so many dead lovers is something endemic to these times. Up to now, we have survived a plague, yes, but it has left a more than squirrelly effect on me. Not just me, also. There are other squirrels. We scuttle about in certain circles, mostly running into each other at survivor groups. I've not seen you pass through, but since you're here now, hello. I know you're hurting, it's why we walk through that door. How did he pass? Were you with him at the end? How long were you together? You see, this is how it goes here. So, would you mind not sitting so close and gazing at me that way, I'm still readjusting to the sound of your name. I'd rather marvel over you from afar at this present moment. We can be nuts for each other later. Ok?

Surrounded by my past
I wear it on my face all the time
Underneath a forced smile
I pin my cheeks up with something warm
And for moments
I find peace in complete solitude and silence
Noise feels invasive

The ups and downs are almost unbearable

I sit in a room I painted with beautiful words
But I don’t feel beautiful
For moments during the day
I feel recognizable
And then feel like a stranger again

Why did I even come home?

I avoid my mistakes like they are bombs about to explode
And I feel different every day….

Here come the dark clouds again.

I feel the tears starting again. And I don’t even know why anymore.

If we coincidentally meet somewhere one of these days
I will look into your eyes and find the answers to my questions
those questions I have been asking
and you have been avoiding
I will find those answers
before my eyes filled with tears
before my tears start rolling down my cheeks
before I wipe them out
before you find I cried
before you feel irritated
before you feel like running away
before you fake an excuse
before I request you to stay for some more time
before you deny
before you walk away
before I find myself helpless
before I hate myself for looking into those eyes again
before I regret for meeting you again

But is it really such a crime?
Avoidance, that is.
I wouldn't call it isolation,
nor anti-social behavior.

Perhaps I just enjoy the quiet
and the decrease in anxiety
a bit more
than mindless chatter
and having to worry about everything I say.

Please, darling,understand this one thing.
I'll avoid people quite often until my last breath.
Only under this circumstance shall I function semi-correctly.

(d.d.b)

She is a sweeper
She swept everything
Under the brown fuzzy rug
In her living room.

Old magazines
books
newspapers
Old photographs
records
love letters.

She swept them all
Under the brown fuzzy rug
In her living room.

One day
It turned into a hill.
All the things she swept
under the brown fuzzy rug
in her living room
turned into a hill.

But she didn't mind.
She kept sweeping
old friendships
romantic relationships
truth
lies
feelings
regrets
mistakes
apologies
forg­iveness
into the hill
under the brown fuzzy rug
in her living room.

The next day
The hill turned into a mountain
She didn't mind
And kept sweeping
Until it exploded

Broken hardwood floor
Burnt brown fuzzy rug
Everything scattered
In her living room.

She stood there
In the middle of the aftermath
Thinking
“Do i throw these all away?"

But she's a sweeper.
So she cleaned the mess
Swept everything back again
Under a new brown fuzzy rug
Laying on her basement floor.