I don’t really remember anything before dawn this morning.  A flash of the sunlight in your voice and the stars in my eyes told me there was something more.  Today started with a conjunction, but I can’t know what it connects me to.  I think it has something to do with the tremor in our silent conversations.

      It will be my fault, regardless.  It always is when you’ve done something unforgivable.

     My hands shake through the air, and I watch you watching me.  You’re as wary as my feet when they finally find the floor.  You ask me what I remember, and I tell you, “Starsongs”.  

     I say, “I remember the sickness.  I remember fever dreaming.  I remember your bathroom floor and a lock on the window.”

     The fever.  
     Buried in a river of your hope.
      I pulse with it; it’s stronger than my heart.  

     You chase the shadows across the corridor as I stumble towards today.  Leftright.  Rightleft.  Palpitate.  Choke.  Smile.  I am fine, you see, just fine.  Take your eyes and watch for spring, it will make you better.

      The fever threatens to leave me, fading, fading.  I’ll drown.  So I claw my way out of your river, tear at you with truth.  Hope won’t save us.  I’m torn between you and myself and a thousand nothings.  All I can understand is the pressure in my lungs.

     I lash out, bitter and vicious and desperate.  

     I don’t understand this place.  I’m dancing down the road to my oblivion, and you’re struggling up a sheer cliff.  At least I know where I’m going; I can see decisions painted on the wall.  

     You cut your hands on the gravel as you slide, and ask me what it means.
     I can’t hear you over the roaring in my ears.
     I can’t answer around the hope you forced into my lungs.
     Why did you think I would know?  And what was the question, anyways?

     You’ll leave and take your rivers, and I’ll suffocate in the still morning air.  There’s no cure for survival.  You’ll understand that one day, though I won’t.  All I’ll know are fever dreams, and dances without song.