funhouse

the ceiling today seems absurdly low
I noticed as I lay on the floor
back to the tile, breath even
and yes, that trio of lightbulbs
seem so much closer and the funhouse
slant of my tilted house I can almost
trace with fingers that before could
never reach

this carpet is thicker, somehow, undeniably
i light a cigarette, i avoid the ash
I am sinking deep into newly plush threads
on my elbows, elbow-deep in crusty soft paint
I am writing words on cardboard
I imagine that if I ever see you again
I'll hold my sign up and if you still know your name
You'll come and sit and find me and explain

you said to go slow, i didn't know how until
i had crashed and as I recovered my carcass
from the burnt and twisted wreck I recognized
the state of our affair and I ran away
I hid in shadows and re-wrote poems
I jumped on a bus and swore I'd sit in the darkness
of the country that I fear more than death
I swore I'd sit there and look into it's heart
and I'd figured out what I had to do
to keep you and find myself

you said to me that you just wished
that I liked myself more
I could only say "me too"

but now your wish has true
I've fallen back in love with myself
as I've fallen out of love with you