diss conection

I swing through rage and back again.

The constant beep beep of disconnection pounds me to sleep. Grinds against my jaw. There are only empty spaces now. Only empty cartons and piling dishes and a list of things we no longer share.

I resist shut down.
Try to keep open.
Try to carve a line between what is mine
and yours.

Righteous is not the same as right. There are vowels between us.
I keep these things private. We are two whirlwinds.
I implode upon myself.