Matchbox Maladies

Catastrophic uncertainty of the self.

Month: June, 2013

when the loss becomes yours

by Sine Qua Non

sorrow will envelop me and rock me gently until it has emptied me of all that i’ve known about you and me and no longer will your kisses tamper my memory and my breathing will steady itself in that vacuum of your absence and when the isles of this country you’ve broken surface from the river flowing of forgetting your footprints will be washed away from the shores you will never know of anymore

my farewell is gradual and finite dressed in crisp oversized shirts of evenings we’ve left outside the door

when the elevator door opens, it will be the last way through and out you will find me in the mirror staring back at the spot where i am no longer beside you.

at that point you will reach out and know

i am no longer beside you

i am no longer beside you when you know you own the truth

i am no longer beside you

becasue i am within

by Sine Qua Non

i am anxious

i keep embracing myself from an imagined cold. because the air isn’t exactly cold. it’s just the feeling of a void beginning to wrap its icy fingers around my frail body and i find myself unable to move. my productivity is dropping to an all-time low and all i want to do is wash clothes and then lie down in bed ans stare at the walls

i do not understand why i am feeling this way

all i know is that i feel almost immobile, struck from the center as if a nail has pierced me from the gut and stuck me to the wall.

i want to cry but while my sight is blurred by the wave of liquified emotion the wail is trapped in the cage of my ribs and it begins to squeeze my heart and it begins to stifle the breath and life in me

i cannot move i only tremble and shake and stagger to breathe

and i could not understand why

i could not understand why

i want to rip my skin open and bleed

i want to wound myself and feel pain

i want to bleed

i want to bleed

i want to hurt some more

i want to understadn the pain

i want to bleed

i dont know what’s wrong i just dont know whats wrong

 

breaking the habit

by Sine Qua Non

I turned on the TV to keep me company in your leave. Slumber comes and goes and I am left alone with the sound of a woman’s thick French accent drowned out by the hiss of a lush body of butter melting in the heat. For an hour after noon, the room is dim. Even with all the lights on, there is a void punctuated by all things suddenly starkly visible: wrinkles on the bedspread, strands of hair, stacks of clutter, unsorted business gathering dust. Only the curtain shifts to the draft of a cold artificial breeze.

The air swells with your absence and I breathe it all in.

In another morning after, the room will be aflush with the simmer of our exhales. Stillness tickled briskly, light will slip in through the tangle of limbs beneath crumpled sheets.

there’s blood on your sheets and it’s not mine

by Sine Qua Non

What’s wrong, you ask. What’s up with the I’m-not-so-amused face. What’s up is that I can’t seem to get over the fact that you got blood on your sheets and I’m pretty sure they’re not my stains. What’s wrong is that it’s been days, a week even, and I thought I was okay but here I am sitting on your bed, on the spot where I didn’t sit the last time so I know some other girl sat and bled where I sit now. What I’m no longer amused at is this. I mean, I’m really fond of you, if it isn’t quite obvious yet. I find the time I spend with you absolutely delightful. All the conversations, beautiful arguments, temporally displaced meals, shots of scotch, whiffs of weed, moving music, divine lovemaking, and all the things I no longer need to enumerate. And though I knew, when I carefully tiptoed my way into this thing we have right now, that I do not have you to myself exclusively and though I thought I’m completely settled with that fact, apparently right now, in these recent days, maybe unknowingly in the past weeks, months even, some nagging feeling has sparked up the messed-up hopeful in me and got me thinking, hey, well maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to have you all to myself. But that’s not the point. Because what I assume is that that’s not something you’d sign up for. It’s just kind of shitty when you have the truth sort of present itself to your face and smother your freshly showered body with its filthy, bloody, mess. So I’m wondering now, whether you’re completely insensitive that you bother not to clean up before the next girl walks in so that I would, upon arrival, marvel at your wonderfully played polygamy or you’re messing up with me and testing the limits of what I would put up with or it’s just something you just totally pay no attention to. So now that I’m barely into grips with this I now am left clueless as to how to proceed in this relationship. Don’t get me wrong, I am not going to lash out at you for being so prolific with your other bedmates it’s just that I’ve fallen so utterly beyond recovery that I am quite afraid of losing the awesome pleasure of your company but I feel that I might just end up damaged after all of this. So, now, all I really need is to know now is where I stand with you. Maybe after that, I would know how to proceed. Or how not to.