the aftermath of the cutting of the chord, day one

i could be shot by arrows
a million times,
and this pain
won't go away.

it builds up
from the bottom of my stomach.
it runs north.
it builds up
to the top of my brain.
it explodes.

i've already paced
the patio a million times,
in the hopes that this makes
sense.

it doesn't.
and neither do
the stars,
or the times you wish
upon them.

it's the realization that your
alone,
naked,
without the ability to blink.

you remember the last
time
you shared a bed and blanket.
coffee and cigarette
on the patio,
and the last time
you held her hand.

you want to die,
and eventually you will die,
but your still numb.