quitting.

i gave up trying to cover it up
at night, i sit in my slip to feel delicate
and let the satin smooth my skin,
it's soft you know.
gave up trying to hide
that i smoke at night,
don't even open the window anymore.
i will, later.
i have to. have to exhale something out of me
it's ashy and reserved and too self-aware
to make any pleasant conversation with strangers.
i used to love strangers.
the thrill of their touch at night
in my slip, translucent and soft.
they always found me at night.
in the corners of the church yard and the grave yard.
this slip drapes over a grave yard.
i was only twelve when it started.
fifteen when i quit.
seventeen when i started.
she was dying and he was killing himself
so i jumped out the window
to lay on the roof and see the night a different way
eighteen when i fell in love.
he led me up green fields
and told me i'd done wrong.
tried to save me but only ended up doing wrong.
twenty-one now, in twenty three days.
i shiver and my teeth chatter.
go back eleven years,
retrace my steps. hardened, hardened.
i rub out the calluses but the keep coming back,
too much returns in the waves of fear
and i am overcome.
didn't know i was so easily impressed
by fingertips and whiskers.
didn't know i was so sensitive.
words leave echos that keep resounding
after they've all left.
distance makes them faint
but when it's midnight i'm kept awake by the
whispers of the night.
won't hide it anymore,
though there are fewer than ever
who hear the secrets that run wild
in my ever pressing thoughts.
i'm still sitting in my tent,
looking through the old memories
and trying to heal.
his comfort is warm, stilling, gentle,
leading me in and out and
he doesn't mind the smell
or disregard of obligation.
he used to cover my roads with
rose petals, but these days he's changed
his tactics.
keeps me guessing, keeps me longing.
i'm keeping myself open with addictives and
simple prayers. i have come this far.
don't let go of me now.
don't let go of me now.