Unstable Foundations

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I sat at that table -- and the chair was uncomfortable -- and my legs had  tremors that shook the fine China -- and that made a pitter-patter that echoed all around the room, but you thought I was causing commotion in the ugliest way and kept your back turned -- in your, too, uncomfortable chair at that same table.
And you stomped your foot in a steady, repetitive tone as if to turn the tables, but you couldn't see that we were still at the same table, that damn table.
It stood between us, and when you are arose to leave the stale air of unspoken truths to turn in for the night, I still remained.
Because sitting where you once sat was the closest I could get to you these days, and I begged my brain to release my body so dreams could replace the silence, but we fought late into the night.
I could see the black crawling from under your door reminding me I'd been shutout, replaced. Insomnia held me that night and it's already tomorrow -- and joy was supposed to come, that was the promise -- and you don't know what it's like to count the seconds between the minute from 11:59 to 12 just to see if that pain loosens its grip a little.
Hooks implanted into my back hold me hostage to the constant seeping of that same darkness as your hand finds perfect fits in everyone else.
I'll flashlight my way home -- away from the space we once shared and take the darkness with me.
My Swiss Army brain has the tools to repair the severed relationship you made space for.
I don't fault you -- you told me growing up was hard work and I made the mistake of smiling as I jumped in your footprints instead of making my own. 

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