An Insomniac Remembers

I used to fill 
my ears 
in the haunting hours
with booming hair metal 
I didn’t even like 
to drown
your floating face 
behind my eyelids, but
still the memories rose 
like ghost-vapor 
where I’d lie by your
side once again 
when you were
my thunderstorm 
in August, 
my musky earth-smell, 
my angry purple 
bruise I touched 
again and again until
it was more pain
than I could bear, 
back in the day 
when I thought 
I'd rather hurt 
then have bone china skin.

My “Something Small, Every Day (or so)” series is inspired by Austin Kleon’s piece here where he says, “Building a body of work (or a life) is all about the slow accumulation of a day’s worth of effort over time.”