drifting back

my medication hasn’t been

working ever since

i cut the pills in half;

the entire dosage knocks me out.

in my sleep nine years ago

you kicked me down the stairs 

in your mary janes

and i’m scared to see

you again, in the wrong light,

when i’m not yet

done repenting.

i wear the same

old sweaters to bed. they

snag on my scars, stick

to my wounds. they shouldn’t. 

they don’t look like it.

as i drift back i recall

thousands of your names

—my saturn, my gooseberry,

my comet in its course,

my, my, my—

all the way 

down to the last rung.