Ha, Ha,

Ha, Ha, 

I do not keep a gun in the house

Because I do not trust that I will not load a bullet into the chamber

And funnel its propulsion through my own chest  

My therapist once asked me if I thought about suicide

We each broke out laughing

She then asked, “Why do you think that is funny?” 

The underlying understanding is constant

The alternative to continuation  

Logic is paramount; I know I have a dysfunctional heart

I can recall what I think might have been love

For a round up to a month in eighth grade

 

And for the month of April in 2010

And about three-quarters of the way there in October of 2011

Summed total the optimist estimates three months  

There was that lost decade, somewhere in there, probably

But the memories are all vampires, twisted alternate visions

Whatever I first saw or experienced them as

In reflection the mirror makes them each something else entirely  

The probability exists that some shard would qualify to pile

On top my quarter of a year bounty, but the dilemma perpetuates

In the quandary of which slice of time to decree as deserving of inclusion

So many seconds, hours, weeks, months accumulated  

The buffet has been slathered in the repugnant glaze of the ineffable conclusion

Of the counterpart’s disdain fused hatred of my being

The others have come to the same, so in these mathematics, the bulge feels as vapid

Nothings, remembrances poisoned by the bickering of fondness with abrogation 

Of the constitution to imply there were rules of engagement

Consideration, the yarn is tangled and soaked in gasoline  

I am confounded as to how others accomplish simple interaction

I have not met another human being outside the internet in two decades   

There have been the layoffs, job shifts, and professional conversations

As far as human talky-talks go, the electronic web has flecked a few kernels

But rare and even they were a mix of borax and vanilla

The world has never been smaller