Record Book

I wandered over the black bald

And fingered through the blue wrinkled pages.

 

I recalled when

I cracked my neck and rolled my eyes and

I asked you what was the point.

When

I twirled on the black and white tiles

and held you when you slipped on them.

When

I reached my hand into uncharted darkness

and pulled out a ruby.

When 

there was streaming color and pounding sounds

and my left ear wouldn't stop bleeding.

When 

you walked right out that door

and never bothered to write.

When

a happier face

saw a happier time.

When

nothing was the same.

When 

you promised.

When

I knew I would die.

And I lived.

 

My little poetry book accounted for all the times

that I needed to remember.

I pour all the inequities into the blue

and stumble back down the knob.

This poem is about: 
Me
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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