i wrote this during the long drive home (from deleted mypace acct)

there have been zombies
roaming about in this room
.g.n.a.w.i.n.g. away
on broken bones
while my troubled heart pumps unnecessary b l o o d
through a myriad of tired veins
I can see

(hear?)
(taste?)
(smell?)

them.
Plainly.

i remember crying about this long ago
preparing for a funeral that would surely not occur

(who is foolish enough to bury the undead?)

i said "sorry" so hard
from so deep down
until the word itself had no coherent grounding

(who can comprehend "sorry" after the millionth time?)

.emotions.
they gnawed
and i simply assumed that
i'd just have to come undone

but:but:but:

love is not at.all.like a sweater
when i pulled that string
everything i knew became unraveled
every ounce of time
and space
and memory
erased
and all stretched out
into this singular line
i grant you permission
to call it my life