I am adrift

I am adrift.

No, stop that.

I'm lighting incense and resisting cigarettes because I know that one would be one too many.
I'm refusing to write down the details of my life because I know that I would become lost
lost
in these ridiculous spirals of breakdown and build-up
breakdown and build-up
breakdown
and
build
break
down.
Around and around and around.
Seven months?
Five?
Four?
Too many.

No, stop that.
You can't have it both ways.

I go around and around and I am adrift.
I spurn the flesh that bore me.
Cradle, creator, desecrater.
Mother or friend, not both.
Blood or mud.

Not both.

I'd rather have mud.
Blood binds.

I'm refusing to remember the details of my life because I know that I would become lost.
Tangled up in the endless broken bonds
that have become a web
that cloud my sight
that snare me
that knock me to the ground
that strangle
that define
that keep.
Give a little half-sigh in the cold grey light
with your belly empty.
You've been breaking all your life.

Just once more and you'll be free.
Adrift.
Free.
Perhaps you'll be able to build in this wasteland.
One would be too many.
You can't have both.
Blood or mud.
Around and around.
Around and around.

No, stop that.
You can't have it both ways.

I am adrift.