They peeled back his skin and found

As a child he had been beaten.

Through slicing and dicing his various parts,

It was found he liked to paint

And smoked because of bad nerves.

They studied his insides and realized

As a man he had hated his neighbours.

His organs revealed he disliked

Their noisy chit-chats and barbecues

The endless rain of baseballs into his yard

The size of his limbs confirmed

That he bought a bottle of vodka a day

To go with the cigarettes.

Then the shaking would cease

And he could continue

To smear his soul onto blank canvas

In his drying veins they saw

For forty years he cured his

Trembling with toxins:

Quick fixes, guaranteed to let him work.

Brush in hand, cigarette in mouth

Ashtray to the right.

Twelve hours ago

The ringing of a phone

Told them his hands had ceased to stroke,

That fire raged among his

Dyes and filled his lungs with ash

He burned among his flaming works:

Brush in hand, vodka in his veins.

While the hot coals next door

Sizzled and they drank lemonade.

Perfectly solid, continuous, real.

So unlike my thoughts which

 Bounce off the walls

Of my soul in a flurry of panic.

¶

After weeks of confusion,

Hours and hours of ignorance

Towards myself, my emotions:

Realization. I feel… scared.

Terrified.

¶

I saw it coming.

Saw its shadowy silhouette

The day I said yes.

When I closed my eyes to the truth.

Settled for temporary happiness

At the cost of yours,

I’m sorry.

¶

Now I face the monster

I let live by telling myself

This is all I can do.

You are the best there is.

That made me happy

Until it hunted me down.

Till recognition slapped me in the face

And screamed: Wake up!

It’s time to choose.

¶

Conscious of this decision

I still falter… and wait.

Wait for a sign I know will not come.

Wait for you to decide for me.

Wait for the inevitable.

Dragging out your pain and mine

Again, I’m sorry.

What else can I do?

Face the truth?

No… Never.

I feel myself smile, dip, blush, spin-

            At the drop of words that once made me cringe;

Eating them up despite the memories of those that fell and failed before me.

To those who built up my caution with their mistakes and misfortune:

            I understand.

I understand the warmth of acceptance;

The feeling which makes us believe the best.

Because as such heat trickles down from what I believe are honest lips

So do my insecurities fade.

And if I miss future warnings,

Signs I always eagerly perceived…

At least I will know what bliss is like.

Having tasted the sweet and bitter of both paces,

I shall now be led by the unknown:

I choose the desperate dance of the ignorant.