TO FAIL SO FLAWLESSLY

twenty fifty four

I'm figuring this out,
understanding the crevices,
the shards, the twists and the
turns that exist in my mind.
Following one path opens
into another door, and who
knows what I will begin to find.

There are some doors, that I'm
noticing speak your name, and
when I try to open it, electric currents
race through my fingers, through my wrist,
and elbow, and bicep and triceps,
before blasting like an explosion
throughout my shoulder, rippling
across the chasm that is me.

This shouldn't be here,
and I have no way of moving it.
You left your baggage here, a room
permanently left in flawless condition
with incredible precision.

But you are not someone I know.
You are not someone who has
rightly earned or received this space.
No, you took it and tucked
yourself and this space into me
when no one was looking,
so that even from a distance,
you'll always be apart of me.
Sinisterly, dastardly. A criminal
in the night and you are no lover
or thief of my heart.

You pushed yourself onto me,
and I was not yours—or anyone's, for that matter—to be pushed upon.
You are only mad and disappointed
in me because I found this out.
You want everyone else to believe you,
and your golden story of heroic rescue
and pity love.
I mean, I can't deny it.
Your story sounds way cooler,
and more confident and fun.
Much more than my story that is simple,
barren, and laid to waste.

It's not exactly pretty to look at, is it?
I also don't want to sit around
and say that all stories like mine are true,
and all stories like yours are false.
That isn't the case. But
no matter what the others say,
the outer world says,
between you and I,
I know that I make you shudder in your sleep.