Trying not to go backwards which involves not
Sexting nameless faces, existential dread,
Looking up death related Dickinson poems,
And reading as if a sleuth the few poems that
Once caused a flutter and then a nose dive into hyperventilation.
However the first thing I noticed was the dramatic exit from my Wellness
And I became a being almost sending dirty pictures (sounds like public sacrifice),
And trying to make out with Nostalgia and Death at the same time.
I am thinking of the library of poems I once dedicated to a man
Who’s one line “I could never love someone like you,”
Seemed to have held its weight the past three years
And perforated my ear drum from hearing new music.
I turn into a mourner of another man who
Seduced me with his normalcy but ran a circus in between lips of a smile.
Everywhere I go there is a wedding and a flower girl, tossing lovingly
Utter destruction for me.
She tosses the pain as if reckoning one day I will stop running,
Let it rinse over me with its shredded paper flakes
And I will stop running backwards.
Forget decimation is the charade.
Google hopeful poems for Emily Dickinson instead.