the abandoned world

 

you believe you are at my mercy

but I,
           too,
am at the mercy of myself

inexorably

unable
to deal with the
tiniest
           of your
constant
necessities

your helplessness


where do my responsibilities
lie

         so often
for your sake

I promise I am fine
climb out of bed
to fix your dinner
                     comfort you
      kiss you through stale cigarettes
the dishes piled, rotting, in the sink
nausea cramping my belly

I
cling to pieces
      that fall from myself like
paint chips
I cannot eat

but stuff clumsily into my pockets
to pull out later
      inspect their fading colours
scatter
                               across the floor
an I-Ching
I cannot read