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| Erich Wolfsfeld's "The Bound Man" |
I know better. I really, really do.
I break free, and then somehow, surreptitiously...
as if lured by a serpent's gaze or a siren call,
some remote thinking on you mires me down.
Takes me back.
Reels me in like a floundering, snagged mack.
I get caught up in casting aspersions, but really
I'm angry at myself. For being so vulnerable,
so foolish, so soft. So hurtable. So willing and compliant.
Truth be told, thoughts of you are always on my mind.
I have just done well to keep them at bay and host
the pretense of being over you. After all, it seemed
the only civilized thing to do since you moved on so
unceremoniously.
I don't want to be sending you well wishes.
I don't want to hold hands and act like all is well.
Freedom is what I desire; the same cool ability
to sever all ties that served you so well. I want
to manage my emotions efficiently and business-like.
But this is a drug, harrowing and relentless in its
pursuit. You super-charge me like no other.
It's all flat line until you bring my pulse into the range.
Emotions rage and fall. Heartbeat quickens and dies.
I normalize and then...POW! Right in the kisser.
A flash, a notion, a glimpse. A remembrance.
A whisper.
Lightness becomes lightning bolt.
I crave release.
Complete distance seems the key.
Burn it to the ground, salt the earth,
erase all memories.
It sounds good on paper.
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