are there things broken? yes, obviously. never mending. daisies greyed out and lost to harsh winds. that’s silly, empty out the mind, what do you see?
i see a vast acres of nothing, blank slate, stale ground, arid field.
i see weeds and cracked patches of densely packed earth.
i see myself in the middle of it all, wordless, tongueless, handless, immobile and futile.
i see time and growth and death and life without me and it brings me to my knees weeping.
i cannot live forever and cannot get past that simple fact.

started phentermine, completely knocks out my appetite. the first couple of days, i was somewhat giddy, more energetic, doing push ups around the house on the random, etc.
calmer but not sharper. more patient but with a bit more bang when i do get annoyed.
almost didn’t eat.

a life, which life, this one. endlessly. they just don’t get it. like broken windows that whistle for days between hurricanes and thunderstorms. not one and the same. different. the fear has nothing to do with children. there’s is nothing terrifying about a children. no. everything about a child or raising children or loving your children is terrifying and wonderful and painful and tremendous but not fear striking. not terror. this is what he does not understand: it’s real. it’s the realest thing i have ever known. or will know. i know exactly how it will be. one day there, then not. that’s what we’d all like to be believe. in our sleep, in a pseudo womb and we’re gone. but all that is missing the point. the error lies in the time between: the growing old, the hair loss, the decay, the wearing down, the wearing out, the beaten leather and loss of youth. the point of no return.
but it’s stupid: the point of no return is everyday, every hour, every minute, every second: you plow on relentlessly, driven and without respite or cause. you just go because there is no stopping.
“there was a fly in your coffee and i was terrified of waking you
-but you stopped.”
lucky fucking bastard.

o little boy i almost snapped you back in half, you pitched forward with such glee, such abandon, such wild joy and up up into my hands i held you aloft but you wanted to keep going, kept pitching forward and i couldn’t hold onto you my son, i couldn’t, i couldn’t stop your momentum and i tried so very hard, i tried with such determination, but your body folded in completely the wrong direction and i heard the softest of cracks, so soft and sharp and the world froze and you yelped like an animal and barely muttered for your mother and i held you close, held you tight, maybe it would all go back together if i held you and i tested your feet, made you stand while you cried gobs of tears and made you wiggle your fingers, your toes, i made you stand further away and asked you to walk to me and when it appeared you were alright i held you tighter still and finally wept and sobbed and you told me it was okay, you were okay, i didn’t have to cry, you were alright, you were alright.

more behind me than ahead. there’s your life you see? out there before you, and you rush. you rush like mad. there’s no need sweet child, slow down. it’s not a race, it’s not even a marathon. you’ll get there, eventually.
it will all come to you: good things and bad. loose teeth and growth spurts. hand holding and first kisses. shallow breaths and long sighs. skinned knees and acne. rough lousy mornings and secret late nights.
slow down. take it from me who has less ahead than behind. and the end, the end comes soon enough to all things: the end of childhood, the end of firsts, the end of youth, the end of hope, the end of innocence, the end of pride.
then it all begins again: but not for you, never again for you. never, ever again.
listen: time, time is a relentless and ruthless beast.

i am useless and without hope. i spearhead but do not lead. i can figure it out, but have nothing to show for it. i do not know how i came to this, i do not know how i’ve so little time left. a lifetime and this was it, squandered and so very alone. so untouched, unmarked, unremarkable, unscathed, but scathing, vicious, cruel and ultimately, ultimately worthless.

in my mind ioanna, i have this vision of you. we’re driving somewhere and i glance over my shoulder. i see you, your head leaning against the window watching the world go by. shadows made by a sun cutting through leaves dances across your face. you are silent. and this is how i picture you, an immense internal world locked within you: unknowable, impenetrable, and all yours. i wish i had the keys to unlock it, to climb in and sit with you as we watch the world go by. when i say i wish i was a child again so that we could be friends, i am not kidding. i’ve squandered much of my life and i wish i could make a list of the things you need to be careful of, what possibly your genetic structure will be prone to. but that’s impossible. i cannot live for you, let alone live through you. i can only watch and hope to understand the solace you find yourself in. i can desperately hope it is nothing like my own.

i’d like to dream again, breathe again. can you do that for me?
and while i let go of all i could’ve been and left instead mundane and tired she says to me:
while you are nothing and are now all that you can ever be,
you are everything to them. never forget that:
you are everything.

it goes without saying, it goes on saying, speaking, rattling inside my head:
this isn’t you, it never was you, it was you all along.
and my head spins and my stomach churns, this sick pit
rolling around and across
i could have been more, i could have done less damage
i could have remained alone and unwanted and free of guilt
i could have had nothing and that would have been everything
but instead, instead, instead:
a daughter who loves me, a son who needs me, a wife that forgives me
how terrible all this, to feel so undeserving, to feel so much
to dread the days, not day, but days that i will disappoint them
over and over
this is not, this has always been you
hanging by a thread, hanging by a noose
clutching at them to save me, pushing them away
to save them from what i should have been

i was dreaming, i once had a dream:
i was tall and strong and beautiful
i was nimble and sometimes very afraid.
but often times i was brave, braver than most.
i saw the world as an orchard and i had evberything that was promised to me.
above all else, i was a man of my word, a man of words.
but i was never any of those things.
i was craven and hostile, meek and angry.
i was a facade, everything was veneer.
the world was sour around me.
and now, now i no longer dream.
i am blemished and broken.
i am shattered and without respite.
the flowers that bloom around are under constant threat.
i want to protect from all things.
above all else, i want to protect them from myself.