Aftermath

And so it is, just like you said it would be

Life goes easy on me most of the time

—Damien Rice , “The Blower’s Daughter”  

There is nothing more there but air. Slowly now, letting go.

When the words escape you as you trade them for silent

                                       sighs, polite glances; manage ostentatiously

                                       with well-meaning pats on the back

                                       so awkward and trite. When you would rather

                                       retreat to the dim comfort of a familiar room, remove

                                       your dagger sharp stilettos, pull down the scratchy

                                       constricting pantyhose and undress your body

of layer upon layer of flimsy affectation (odorous garments clinging

like a second skin which calls for slow and careful peeling), strip off

                                       insincere whims, the fashionable valiance that dazzles

                                       both the earnest and the fool. Wipe your blood-stained lips

                                       pale, and remove the mawkish haze from your smoky eyes

                                       before they begin to mock you again when you meet

                                       the mirror on your side. Never mind the achieved failure

                                       or the sense of indignation and discontent that surrounds.

Tolerate the slow obliteration of your soul upon grasping

what it means to forget— the disintegration of your memories

                                       and memories that will never be made. Embrace the wholeness

                                       of loss. Let your guard down. You are closed in unswerving walls. 

                                       Trepidation ceases where you can crumble numerous times into

                                       yourself. Walk inside a room inside another room with reckless

                                       abandon. Make a proposition to survey the formidable without

                                       restraint: wander about aimless without the weight of eyes

casting stealthy agonizing stabs. Permit yourself to fall naked

on that welcoming bed and delight in its soft consoling covers

convincing the core of your being to say that

                                                                    it’s over,

                                                                           it’s over.

                                                                                   It’s over.