Have You Met Anyone?

I made just enough to pay bills and destroy my insides. Responsible self-destruction. Shaved off my beard and shaved my head and stood shirtless in the mirror and thought, Well, there it is. Three bottles of Chianti swirling inside me. Two cups of kratom. The nausea was kicking in but you only had to fight it for a bit and before you knew it you felt okay again. Soft and alive. Your blood slowed and you thought lighter and the world made sense and you knew your beard was a mask and your hair was an act and you were not your face.

You are nothing and nothing matters.

The kratom affected people differently. It destroyed some, but it mellowed me. It made some feel weak, but I felt capable. It gave some nightmares, but I slept heavy and easily. It fixed a lot of me. Things that a menu of meds over the last few months hadn't come close to touching. Things meditation, exercise and diet changes did nothing for.

Shaved face shaved head shaved soul.

I sat on the edge of the bathtub. The Velvet Underground played in the living room. I was spending the evening working on songs for tapes I had been putting out. I usually banged them out, one after the other in an hour or so, but I figured I had time to kill and I could spread it out over two or three hours. Maybe do twice as many songs. I didn't know. The kratom pretty much guaranteed they'd all be slower and gentler than normal.

I had spoken to Marie a bit here and there over the last few days. I didn't know how I felt about it. Neutral. Numb. We attempted to relate to each other. Yes, our anniversary was a rough day to navigate. Yes, we both get sad sometimes. Yes, there is no need for hostility. It rolled off of me. After speaking I walked the length of the places we used to spend time and I asked myself if I could be her friend. If I could still include her in my life, and a part of me screamed out 'yes!' and a part of me screamed out 'no you fucking idiot!' I loved her, of course. But, I knew more than i wanted to.

I ran my hand over my head. I wished things were simpler. I wished I was a product of drift. Of divergence. I wasn't. I was a pit. A husk. An act. Wine as blood. Keep my arms moving so I look alive. Clean. Play songs. Write. Look everyone, I'm alive.

I turned the shower on. Wash the hair off of me.

Water over my skin.

'It was never because I didn't love you," she had said.

I don't understand anything else.

The kratom kept me neutral. The chianti kept me calm.

"Have you met anyone?" she had asked.

I met a lot of people.

"You mean, am I seeing anyone?"

"Yes."

"No."

It was late may. The air was hot and I kept the water cool. Fuck my hair. Fuck the two years it took growing out again. Fuck the last two years and fuck the last ten years and fuck the next ten.

I am neutral. This is fine.

I turned off the shower, toweled off and wished I hadn't shaved my head and wished other things and none of them would come true.

I went to the living room and wrote songs.