UnReady

even as the years pile on, messily
boxes upon boxes of memories
one on top of another
poised to topple at the merest
word, it hurts, it hurts so
profoundly, why do i do this
sex therapy lover friend
work, i can still smell him
under my fingernails
with the ink and dirt
despite the days passing
ever further away from him
and his endless, insistent
monologuing
the words dry up, carcasses
of brushstrokes left to
flake upon canvasses
and so i drink jasmine
tea and refuse the familiar
seductions of misery
i am too much
i am too much
i am too much
to be met in the middle
by brittle shiny ego
he was un-ready
i was a life buoy
haunted