What about my shredder?

I take care to not step on any cracks,

I count each tile, I count everything twice, three times. It annoys you. I like how you say my name

When you’re upset.

You want me to count you instead? Of course I do. You are number one, not on paper, just in my head.

While I am whizzing past our horror stories of learning wrong lessons, Time keeps track

Of my life like a train that is made to look like it’s on schedule, stuck on a loop that keeps it busy but truly is a runaway

Piece of paper getting stuck in my head, ripped up to shreds.

I can’t feel my feet on the ground,

It’s off, I’m feeling quite woozy

But reality doesn’t allow me to fall,

I sink, but not in your arms, baby.

I sink into the dirt, where the family you and I created out of perfect foundations

Now leave me breathless, dead.

I feel bad like a leaky faucet,

And my heart hurts from trying to count down my beats. I keep thinking our beats fell the same way when we landed, and sound good together, I wonder how your organs pulse along with mine? It is a beautiful symphony, like the way my shredder sounds,

Alive. Complete.

While you are just sitting there, looking all neat. Composed like some thing perfect.

So tall, red,

And you lie about things while your eyes speak volumes of truth

But, we can’t speak it except in small details of letters beneath our breath,

So

I say

What about my shredder?

It can shred histories.

What about my shredder,

It can take away the most frustrating thing about your losses and erase them

What about my shredder?

I can sing it in your sweet ear, I cling to the machine to hear my emotions sting.

What

About my

Shredder?

I cling to it, it’s plugged in,

Listening to me breathe.

I’m alive, don’t you know?

Don’t erase me.

I won’t let anyone hurt us,

A bundle of something called my family,

I won’t let you go,

But I keep out the truth, and dust it all away,

But keep saying in a heartbroken voice

That thing that keeps you away,

What about my shredder,

What about our painful separation?

That makes me feel like I’m being stabbed all over my body, but there are no marks?

What about my shredder, I hum into the whirling plane of our feverish reality.

I clutch to the machine blindly,

As we keep longingly, secretly, painfully

Looking at one another

In

The dark.