Carrie Sloan

Equilibrium

This house is dark and sticky hot,

there is movement beneath a cartoon character

sleeping bag, I recognize your hand.

Your voicemail said it was time, the revolver

under your pillow makes me a believer,

we have been coming to this since we were children,

four years separate us but this is a bonding moment. 

Your chalk colored arms have superficial cuts,

I can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment,

the blood letting is my thing,

get your own addiction.

The unbalanced are territorial

of their quirks. I keep picturing myself

pushing you off my dusty coattails,

there is only room for one diagnosis this year.

Rationality is not my strong suit.

Right now, I’m busy patting myself on the back

for having called your mother.  We need

an equilibrium adjustment.

For the moment I can think of no reason

not to pull the hammer back and let go.

Our genes have not been kind,

how were we to know we had no choice but

to loose our minds. Spending the rest of our lives

looking for a way back to what others consider

normalcy.