the sound of a thousand car accidents screamed in my ears.
i awoke, startled, not knowing if it was a dream.
crawling,
i peeked through the dirty slats of my window,
pushing aside the dusty curtain...
dark.
nothing.

still,
sitting up,
i felt as if something was missing.

numb.

painful needles shot quickly through my blood.
i had been left a gift from someone.

it was from my soul.
it was once brilliant,
but grew ever grey,
like its flesh and bone imprisonment.

it left these melancholy verses in a note,
pinned through the shirt, right to the heart:

i grew tired of running away from a stark reality
larger than a hundred elephants.
you have asked of my wisdom,
and yet my answers to you are of no consequence--
they do not covet vanity nor wealth.
i am a useless appendage..
i have left you something to fill the space.
use it when it comes to how you feel in general.
don't worry about my well being...
you could, i suppose,
but then could you look at yourself in a mirror
without calling yourself a liar?


ever notice that being told not to worry
automatically makes you do so?
i peeled back the layers of torn skin from the puncture wound.
i am now made of mud.

i don't know how i continue to live.

it had always loved the ocean of space,
my soul did--
envied the second nature of birds.
i like to think it traveled to be with you
where it felt most at home.

it left behind a leather-bound book of photos,
displaying events now unremembered,
people only vaguely familiar.

got dressed. wanted answers.
leather bound book in hand,
i stepped outside my door and began to notice
that life was now void of color.

i was not alone.
occupants of the entire
tree-lined,
suburban nightmare
dwelling congregation
had too, heard something crash
and stepped outside.

by the looks on their faces,
we shared solidarity in our experience
on this grey morning.

we have all lost our souls
to something.
just living out our days,
waiting for the mud to dry.

NB @ 4:37 PM

---