I'm driven away from the drafts that have your face on them
I can't bear to re-read the stories recorded, remotely
Semi-darkness is the best my eyes can see, upside down
Music leads me around in circles, skipping song after song
I look at the news. I look at the news again. I load again, and hit the x before it can load.
I'm heaped up; I can't feel what I'm feeling until I tell someone else what I'm feeling
But when I do, I am sad, in the identity sense that word order implies
It's my first name, my last name, my middle
Names drop into my eyes, in the form of a face
I didn't think I'd feel this, I didn't know what to expect
I don't know anything about myself, this is plain
Predictions are predicated on nothing, and yet I make them.
Hubris. Sentences without end; commas without purpose
Punctuated, I am punctuated, punctured
I'm letting all the air drain out; I can smell my breath from long ago
As the air runs out of me, out of the hole in my side
I'll lie here, on my back
On my side
Or perhaps on both hands and feet
Downward, directionless
And I won't leave my house tonight
This sadness needs somewhere to be
And I need enough space for the permeation to be full
Even as I'm completely devoid of air
These forest fires mean I won't be sucking down more air on my bicycle
So I have to sit here
Airless
And remember not to forget
Even if the forgetting is exactly what I want
It's not a spotless mind
It's not even an organized brain
It's whatever it is
Memory
And everything that's gone
Roman Ryan 