I have not felt my legs in four years.
I hate months. Each carries different
demons. November is a home-wrecker.
Prancing in lives
like a horse,
with a horse,
trampling my legs,
shattering a fragile life.
He went with the moon.
A silver carriage
whisking him into the night.
I laid on the floor in
a broken heap. Expecting.
A cloud came in and took his place.
Pouring sharp gulp after gulp.
Until, questions came.
Until the bugs crawled through
my nostrils,
dragging hallucinations behind them
on chains.
I loved them. For a moment,
I loved them. But their names changed.
On a basis.
We went infrared together.
Having seizures and one night stands.
Dancing black dances.
Taxi after taxi. Until,
the cloud cleared. Left me like he did.
November was not anymore,
and still I cannot feel my legs.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 