Haunts Me

I am now embarrassed about something that should've been a huge achievement in my life.

All of the air gets sucked out of every room that I walk into.

Gravity finds me, and pushes down just a little heavier today than normal.

Embarrassed when I should be happy.

Light fades into darkness, in the tiny corner of the big house.

The shadows on the walls break bones, as the darkness eats them.

These little curses, that float around behind my eyes, whisper to me dark little secrets of the night.

Your deepest secrets and darkest thoughts haunt me.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

This isn’t a gift, some days.

It’s x-ray vision.

I see right through you.

Right through you.

And it haunts me.

And the curses whisper to me that I am the problem.

Maybe I am the problem?

. . . Maybe I am the problem.

Probably.

But I’ll walk down an aisle to marry denial, and spend eternity with her in holy matrimony. “Where’d that swagger go, young man?”

It died, good sir.

It died.

Let’s dance with Jesus, and resurrect some day.

It’d be nice if that story was true . . .

But for now, roll that boulder, and leave me dressed in linen.

With these holes through my hands and feet, and this wound in my stomach, I’ll take a nap here.

Wake me up in three days, good sir, and see if I smell.

-C.H.