"Ocher"

January 14, 2012
By , Inez, KY
I could fall underneath the white.
My entire mind is right underneath it, and the rocks, and the dirt. I’d just fall through the surface without a sound. A vague scream or something like that. I have yet to go out into it. Afraid I might see something in the hills, or in a hole. I’d chase it, and fall. I’d get myself dirtied up, when I am too clean.
Like a fox in the snow, my mind keeps running. Begging me to beg someone for the bottle. The bottle under the lettuce, in the drawer, under the fridge. It’s 1:39. I am sober.
A drink is life. A drink is escape. A drink is down the rabbit hole. Down the fox hole.
We stand alone at birth, we don’t stand at all. All covered in the womb we know nothing, we see nothing, we need everything. New born, all wrapped up. Sweet smile,
smell,
small eye.
I am newly born, and begging to die. It is 1:42. I am sober.
I looked at you so long ago, lying out in a similar snow.
You can’t remember it, because you weren’t there, like you’re not here now, but you’re looking at
Me
typing and smoking. And you held me then, like you’re holding me
now.
But you don’t remember that, because your hands are somewhere else, but they’re on mine, pushing me through. It’s 1:52. I am sober.
The sun comes out, and the snow melts. The water crawls back into the sky. Endlessly recycling itself. Never burning out. I like to pretend that I am that good at evaporating myself back into a standing position. But somehow I am stuck in the air in-between. Air, smell, stillness, numb. I am floating, no direction. I can’t see the sky or ground. I can’t touch them, as hard as I try, but I can blow something around. I can still hold paper afloat for a moment or so. And I can stir a fire, and blow it right up, and
out.
I can still be. I can understand pouring salt in wound, to heal the hole. I can understand understanding that and instead pouring a bottle of alcohol right down. It’s 2:01.
I lay motionless. A few empty packs of cigars on the table, one in my lips. Everything around me lay still, but I feel it moving. I lay, empty. But full of too many words for anything or anyone to live out, listen to, or take. I put my hands in front of my dirty face, and see every line, for what it is. But I can’t quite make out what you are. What you mean to me. How you are…able still after too much time…everything. I put it on you, without hope, or thought. I ask nothing of you, but hope and thought. I ask nothing, expect nothing, no pain, no gain, nothing. Breaking the camels back. Everything.
We adventured into the future you and me. Still holding pinkies till the last second, when something told us to let go. I am unsure if we ever did. I still feel like I’ve held on somehow underneath all of the rest of the hands I grew to juggle the rest of everything that I put on myself. This majestic beast I became. My hair flying out from every pour on my head. Ten arms, two legs, a heart…a head with three faces. I held it all. I took the blows, threw them back. I stood like a tower, pedestaled high, looking over. Still holding a hand out, for yours. Still feeling like you were holding one out for mine. Still feeling you, in every limb I drew.
I buried it all.
Cut off each limb from my glowing torso. Burnt them in a hole, heart racing at the mess I’d made in front of my own face. Not recognizing any reflection. All her hair gone, and burnt. All her body torn half in two.
I could smell you.
In every blaze, and plume.
I could smell
you.
It is 2:21. I am sober.
One door opens, and all things fall through. Like all of the snow I keep staring down. And visions of you. At times I wish everything I knew hadn’t went so far. That the bandages had held somehow. Sometimes I see my shaking hand and don’t recognize it either. Cannot believe at one point in time, it dug too deep in flesh not my own. Held a bloody knife, and all the same a cigarette. With all of these open doors I feel myself taken down. Underneath it all. Drinking myself above it. And falling deeper. Sometimes I am afraid of the dark, but I remember you laying there with me. Holding me now, like you were then. Not remembering a thing. Because you couldn’t know you’re the biggest fear I could have. Facing you, holding you, handling you…is everything I ran from to start with. The monsters I’ve been drinking and f***ing away. The hands I’ve taken in place, the arms I’ve grown, the fires I’ve started.
Defensive, I am defensive.
Knowing the feeling I get, fearing the loss. Knowing the smile I wear, fearing the bottle. Knowing how close I could come, and falling through. I chase. I will chase. I plot, I do plan. I stand alone.
Vision, and reality mingling.
I open the doors, let it all fall through. I face it all, two hands, attached to two arms, on one body, with one heart. I welcome you in. I pull you through.
Drunk.
Coverd in snow, covered in white
Glittering.
Drunk.
Covered in you.
It’s 2:36. I am sober.





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