Poems
by A.J.
Huffman
My Mind Resonates
like a metronome on meth. It cannot think
in the same plane twice. I twist. It turns–
sideways like a boormerang in heat–
and lands back on its own
reflection. I pick it up,
fold it into different angles.
My fingers swallow it’s whine,
become electric
guns, searching for release.
No pen in sight. No problem!
Blood flows just as nice.
We Lie
on our backs,
both pretending not to
look at the ceiling.
You waiting for me to acknowledge you
are awake. Me waiting for you
to return to sleep.
I hear you sigh heavily, a sign of my lack
of interest to crawl into your arms.
You are too covered in memories of her
for me to even contemplate the possibility.
Her ghost is permeating the room,
judging me and coveting you.
We know she has already won.
I Do Not Feel
anything
anymore.
I turn the emotional world off
like a switch.
Swish. Wish. Boo.
It all dissolves into the space
in my brain, boringly labeled pain.
There is no need for any other brand.
All their names sound the same
in the Hell of my heart. I turn
its temperature to cold
and embrace the silence that comes
as quickly as the hardening
of its beats.
