small towns. from small towns. by Crisis Sigil

i can't tell my dreams
apart from my nightmares
home or hell
was there a time when i was aware?
don't move;
stay motionless and just
stare down the memory
don't come any closer
stay right there

don't move

is there a way
is there a way to let go?
without forgiving somehow?
without forgetting the shape of the hole?

inside this place
escape is all we know
run away condemn the memory
of what we call our homes
all the ways we were failed
made invisible now
as the sun descends
over the streets of small towns

is there something
inside me that needs this?
i don't know
do i secretly deserve it?
is there a part of me
that knows what happened?
why am i so sure i'm just dramatic?

i can't feel

human souls, she thinks, are absences.
a hole torn into the being of every person,
each a different shape.
sometimes the edges line up
with someone else's wound,
and briefly, there is the illusion
of the absence being filled in again.
occasionally the jagged corners
lock together so tightly that this illusion
can sustain itself for a very long time -
but ultimately, she knows,
the emptiness remains.

she walks her familiar street
in the haze of early morning,
keeping something secret inside her chest:
a tiny jewel, the size of an insect,
a quiet understanding
that everything from here on out
is unknown.

• Electronic
• ambient
• concrete
• industrial
• Montreal