I keep thinking about the room you disappear into, not a real room maybe, maybe a pressure system, maybe a color, maybe a dead channel between two thoughts, but I know it’s got carpet that remembers every fall, I know it’s got a window painted shut with old shame, I know there’s a mattress on the floor and a saint made out of cigarette ash, I know there’s a little TV playing every mistake in no particular order, I know the remote don’t work unless you bleed on it, I know the door says exit but opens into childhood, I know the walls got scribbles like forgive him, kill him, call her, don’t call, eat something, disappear clean, come back filthy, pay the bill, become the bill, swallow the bell, ring anyway, and I don’t know if I’m trying to rescue you from that room or move in beside you with a lamp and some soup, because rescue can get arrogant, rescue can wear an abusive face, rescue can sound like “why didn’t you just,” and I ain’t on that, I know the pit got manners, I know it says please, I know it tucks you in, I know some nights the darkness feels less judgmental than the morning, I know some monsters are just nurses with rotten hands, I know some poison tastes like peace when your nerves are on fire, I know you don’t fall apart because you’re weak, you fall apart because you been holding together a cathedral with chewing gum and spite, because you been carrying names that don’t fit in one mouth, because you been swallowing storms in public and burping thunder in private, because you been loyal to people who fed your shadow and called it love, because you been trying to be easy to love while your insides riot, and that’s the part that makes me want to punch a hole through the moon, the way you apologize for bleeding on the knife, the way you minimize the flood because other people drowned worse, the way you stand there soaked saying nah I’m good, like good ain’t become a costume, like fine ain’t a coffin with air conditioning, like tired ain’t the password to the underworld, and I hear you, or I hear me, or I hear the third thing between us, that nameless witness with dirt in its teeth, whispering keep going not because it gets simple everything blooms, not because the wound becomes a TED talk instead its just somewhere under the landfill of yourself there is a stubborn green nerve that refuses empire, refuses obituary, refuses the elegant lie that nothing matters..... I keep thinking about the room you disappear into, not a real room maybe, maybe a pressure system, maybe a color, maybe a dead channel between two thoughts...I keep thinking about the room you disappear into, not a real room maybe, maybe a pressure system, maybe a color, maybe a dead channel between two thoughts...I keep thinking about the room you disappear into, not a real room maybe, maybe a pressure system, maybe a color, maybe a dead channel between two thoughts...I keep thinking about the room you disappear into, not a real room maybe, maybe a pressure system, maybe a color, maybe a dead channel between two thoughts... I keep thinkin’ ’bout that room you be slidin’ in when ya eyes go dim, ain’t got no walls, no lock, no hinge, might be low-pressure weather in ya ribs, might be that bruise-colored blue where the bad news live, might be a dead lil’ frequency wedged ’tween two thoughts where the signal get lost and the soul talk slick, where the block sound far but the sirens still hiss, where the pipes knock twice like the past want in, and I know that room ain’t just pain in a chair, nah, it got paperwork stacked like prayers nobody sent, old receipts from the corner sto’, grease on the edge, two-dollar jokes from the homies now dead, half of a song that ya moms used to hum while the onions hit oil and the whole crib smelled like maybe we gon’ be alright for a minute, it got cheap thrills, court bills, missed calls, fake love, real guilt, that exact heavy hand on ya shoulder right before life switched and everybody got distant, it got that laugh you lost when survival got serious, found years later under the bed all dusty with a sock in its mouth like shhh don’t tell nobody joy still live here, it get loud in ya chest but it can’t make a sound, ’cause round here when they smell blood they don’t gather around, they back up, crack jokes, tell you tighten ya crown, so you learn how to grin while you mentally drown, keep a mask on snug, keep the grief tucked down, say “ion know, I’m straight, I’m cool, I’m chill,” anything quick just to kill that question ’fore it dig through the wall where the real shit hid, ’cause it really ain’t “fine,” it’s a fist in the ribs, it’s a blade in the brain that you twist till it drip, it’s you stabbin’ at silence like bleed, muhfucka, bleed, give me proof I ain’t numb, give me somethin’ I can feel, but the room just breathe, cold air through its teeth, got every version of you that you buried underneath, lil’ you with the scraped-up knees, young you with the big-ass dreams, current you sellin’ “I’m good” by the gram in the street, all of ’em lookin’ at you like damn, we still here? and you can’t even answer, just pace through the static, kick dust off the mattress, count every loss like the rent due after, thinkin’ maybe disappear ain’t leavin’, maybe it’s foldin’ inward so deep that the dark feel safer, maybe that room is a shelter, maybe a cell, maybe both, maybe hell got a smell like old smoke in a winter coat, maybe hope ain’t dead, just broke, laid low, talkin’ real soft through a throat fulla ghosts, and maybe every time you come back out sayin’ “whatever,” you ain’t lyin’ all the way, you just rationin’ truth ’cause the truth cost weight, and the hood taught early don’t show no ache, so you carry that room like a gun at the waist, invisible, loaded, one thought from bang, still dappin’ up life like it ain’t no thang, but I keep thinkin’ ’bout where you go when you fade mid-sentence, when your face stay present but your spirit hop fences, and I wonder if you sit with the dead in there, trade old punchlines, breathe fresh air, let somebody’s hand land light on ya shoulder before the world made touch feel rare, before love came taxed, before trust needed fare, before “how you doin’?” felt more like a trap than care, and I wish I could step in that room, no boots, no noise, no questions, just sit by the door with the weight of my presence and tell every ghost in that bitch you ain’t theirs, tell the pain pay rent or get the fuck outta there, tell that lost lil’ laugh take the sock from its mouth, tell you ain’t gotta bleed just to prove you still count, but I know you gon’ shrug, say “I’m straight,” look away, so I swallow the muthafuckin lesson and stay anyway, ’cause sometimes love in the trenches ain’t words, it’s just not gettin’ scared when the voices get heard.... I keep thinking about the room you disappear into, not a real room maybe, maybe a pressure system, maybe a color, maybe a dead channel between two thoughts...I keep thinking about the room you disappear into, not a real room maybe, maybe a pressure system, maybe a color, maybe a dead channel between two thoughts...I keep thinking about the room you disappear into, not a real room maybe, maybe a pressure system, maybe a color, maybe a dead channel between two thoughts...I keep thinking about the room you disappear into, not a real room maybe, maybe a pressure system, maybe a color, maybe a dead channel between two thoughts...
