Sequel to a poem previously posted "Over Time"
I wonder what he feels
Every time he looks in the mirror.
Do his eyes glaze over with pride?
Are they bloodshot with the bullets fired into his soul?
Does “reckless” appear to be tattooed into his scalp?
Thick like a lion’s mane
Skin baked by the young son
Birthed under pressure
Time & again
Does my spirit sing to him in his sleep like his does mine?
Does my ghost weep into his chest?
Does his heart beat to the plucking strings of his banjo,
With a case that creeps next to my balcony door
In which there are blinds
Broken in lust
Which allows the sun to
Fill my living room with love
I see him
Shirt draped over him like a bed sheet
The sun baking him
Hills and valleys rising and falling in his lungs
Two inflatable smoke stacks
I find myself choking
Under the pollution he casts onto me
I can’t filter him out
No matter how hard I try
Time & again
I get sicker
But the cure from this disease doesn’t dawn from silence
And no matter how much research I do
On how to make that fucking throat of yours sing
I hear nothing but nails on a chalkboard
Every time I think of you it is screeches
Every time I’m reminded of you it gets more intense
Maybe I should just stop trying to discover the perfect formula
That will reopen the line of communication
Magic like ours wasn’t made in a classroom
I wonder what he sees when
He looks in the mirror.
Does he love what he sees
Or does he overlook everything
Like he does me?