The confessions of a man without a mouth

And you haven’t left yet

she tells me,

though I’ve missed the beginning bits;

and you won’t leave

she tells me,

though I’ve missed the middle bits;

and you can’t leave

she tells me,

though she missed the ending bits.

*

What would you be without me

I’m asked by a different me

who has been where I have for three years

like a shadow sinking into shade

and I don’t answer for she knows it

and I do too,

but only after her reply about nowhere

and certainly not here

contemplating a conclusion

and compiling the confessions

of man without a mouth

but still equipped

with a teeth and a tongue

which trip on each other from time to time

like when the man tries to add that

he’d be somewhere else

but she first says remember the bad days

the horrible days

the days we were spent and used up by the Universe

and the man muzzles something

about a cure for suicide

and she says

we need one another

to stay alive

and the man looks beyond her

to see if there are others

who might know CPR

because there’s a lump in his throat

from eating something two days ago

and she says

we need to love, love

and the man finally inhales

through his nose

because his mouth is still not there

and if it is

it is only a useless spout

that pours water and words

and she says

don’t forget us

and the man

strives to remember

but stumbles on

an empty haze in a big room of nothing

where he can only

asks himself

who am I

before little bits of him erode

into little bits of im

then i

like his teeth,

leaving him to point his tongue

and carve sentences into his gums

until he bleeds or runs out of room

and she says

don’t hurt me

and he drowns

on him

on her

on all