The length between one and another

might be too far a stretch; but eventually

I’ll find my way there, over steel tracks

and brushing against strangers best left

unmet.

What draws me back, time and time again?

The safety in those arms, the smell of

sweet seduction in a room that holds all

my memories from years past;

but it’s not even mine to behold any longer.

Even when I’m not here, I find myself thinking

of nothing else and am filled with longing to

return to something I know should be already

gone from my life. It wraps tentacles around

me and pulls me back into dark waters of memory

and loathing.

I cannot stay away. Perhaps they’ll bury me

in this room – dig up the carpet floors and make

my bookcase my headstone. It’s more than I’d ever

dreamed of having.

Being lowered into a six-foot-hole of uninhibited bliss,

surrounded by memories that would rather

damn me to an eternity chained in one spot

rather than explore my surroundings and take the new

that is offered – my anxiety refuses to allow this.

And so I shudder in sudden rapture of

returning there again, and again, and again;

drifting into dreams of psychosis and

nightly sweats of dread of ever leaving again.