Fantasy of Teal

Your words flow like a river. They spin me out of control, they carry me down

To the lowest points of the shore. Make up running, making me into the clown

You know I am – deep below the surface. So you keep shoveling the soil, faster,

Or as Fitzgerald put it – we beat on just to fall back into the past, to become a disaster.

There is this immeasurable darkness inside of me when I see your face, I feel reckless.

You are the one to sympathize, but you also beg me to wear a hangman’s knot as a necklace.

How full of oneself can a person be? When does the pride begin to overflow?

Just as a shallow basin you drip on the floor each night before you start a row.

We argue about the system, we beat each other black and blue for the thrill.

People say that I look happier but we both know you kick in like a bitter pill.

The high you give is worthless if you keep dragging me deeper in the waters –

But I guess that is what you get after years of ditching belief in holy fathers.

I never trust a story with a happy ending because there is always the next chapter.

When you first fell into my nets, they called me a serial cheater and a captor.

Look at us now – selling our act on the street corners for a dime. You – closing the deals,

Me, kneeling on the red brick road, making sure that my psyche heals

Before you once again keep my head underwater with your heel.

What’s not to love about life spent in a fantasy of teal?