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Disorder

Poetry & Prose | September 23, 2013

“Mood stabilizers,” you say with a grin.
You laugh and shrug like it’s nothing, yet you won’t meet my eyes.
A strange noise escapes me—strangled, unrecognizable.

Stable? Secure. Strong. Sturdy. Safe:
An old friend we had not heard from in months.
I return your weak smile and stare at the tiles on the floor.

That week you spent in your car,
Sleeping in a parking lot, pissing in a cup,
Were you scared?

While you slept with concrete beneath your feet,
I stared at the ceiling. Sleep taunted me,
Painting a world without you in it.

The Diagnosis brought a sick sense of relief.
Hands of grief strangled me from the inside,
But finally—finally this monster had a name.

This monster that called me a bitch.
This monster that punched holes through the wall.
This monster that had devoured and replaced you.

Through the tattoos and the smoke and your anger
Is the boy who reached for my hand at the clap of thunder.
He will never let you win.