If you feel like a patient, why not dress like one? (Mission of Burma, “Mica”)
Channeling my inner Goth Princess:
You cut a gorgon's head into your upper left arm, warrior marks, a roundabout to confuse the creature you would become, you always become, and left the stains of rivers across the parchment map of your skin. Rivers from dry beds, dried and cracking in the sudden desert heat. Conjuring the waters from the desiccated earth is an act of magic, healing. The ambulance ride through the dark winter to the satellite on the edge of the wood confirms you.
* * *
And other illnesses. Sickness and disease, but no death. We may as well be Tithonus, growing more brittle by the second. We have no love for the Dawn. Could hold it off forever with the indigo ward and the distant howl of the coyote. No sleep, no beginning.
* * *Every now and then, you arrive at my head and stay as a guest, long past your welcome. I talk to you because I feel compelled to do so, tell you that despite the fact that you have learned something and moved on, I learned nothing from our time together. I was just marking time for 6 years. Without you, if I had had the wherewithal to go through life alone, I would probably have been more successful, no illusion of anything lost or gained, an equilibrium established. Or I would have been no worse off than I am now. Love is an emotion, as fickle as any, dependent upon illusion. It's never been more than that for me. There is no meaning but that which we infuse into reality ourselves. Meaning or meaninglessness: neither is clearly better than the other, because neither is more true than the other. It meant nothing, and in fact was net negative from the moment we moved you up. That was mainly my fault. You've been no significant part of my life for three years now, since you moved out. It had been over for a year and a half prior to that. Why are you still in my head? Why do I continue to invite you in? The you I invented long ago. You as you are far away, and happily. Everybody was sick of hearing about you months and months ago, so I stopped talking about you, and I said I wouldn't write about you anymore, but here I am. Not like anyone reads this anyway. Just trying to exorcise this demon. Hopefully, it will be easier once I get my meds on track again. Anyway, be well, and stay away. I haven't anything to say to you, only to the image of you in my head.