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Dave Bonta
Hundreds of ladybugs huddle together
in clumps in the corners where wall
& ceiling meet. I point the black tube
like a magic wand, a reverse rifle,
& the beetles disappear with the briefest of rattles
down the vacuum’s plastic throat.
This is nothing like hunting, no meditative wait,
no tense silence or rush of adrenaline.
Snuffing out these house invaders, I feel nothing.
I am alone with the sound of the cleaner,
which cancels out every competing thought.
If there were sound in space, a star
would howl like this when it collapsed into itself:
detritus from the ceiling, meet the detritus from the floor.
Bright clot of color, flame,
here’s a sackful of dust in which to gutter.
Lock me to sleep,
discharge me numb,
set me in writing—
and so to be.
you can tell me you love me all you want,
but i'll never believe you.
too many people have said it that haven't
truly meant it.
now i'm numb to the 4 letter word
Im fine.
Im okay.
That's what i say through the tears that are obviously streaming down my face.
And i try,
I promise i try so hard to make them stop.
But for some reason most of the time im just not strong enough.
I feel like the most useless waste of air,
All i do is drown in my sorrow,
more like wish i could drown.
Or evaporate.
When someone used to ask me what my dream superpower was i would say the ability to read minds.
But now if someone asked me that i would simply say,
the ability to evaporate.
To not feel anything for any amount of time at all.
Why do I feel so numb and distant?
Why does no one notice or care?
Why? Am I a burden to you all.
Just don't turn to me when I'm the only one you have to call
A pretty girl tried to kiss me on New Years Eve,
I recoiled in pain and disgust,
my smile she did misperceive,
as an invite for spontaneous lust.
She told herself I must be taken,
or gay or something like that,
she couldn’t have been more mistaken,
I just don’t engage in emotional chit-chat.
My deadness is easy to sense and see,
there must be someone who can wake what’s inside,
my world is full of chaff and debris,
until they appear I will live as if I have died.
The zones of warmth around his heart,
No alien airs had crossed;
But he awoke one morn to feel
The magic numbness of autumnal frost.
His thoughts were a loose skein of threads,
And tangled emotions, vague and dim;
And sacrificing what he loved
He lost the dearest part of him.
In sculptured worship now he lives,
His one desire a prisoned ache;
If he can never melt again
His very heart will break.