I finally climbed the three flights of stairs,
a Martin Kippenberger anthology threatening my balance.
And a heavy heart challenging those
memories of you, I wantonly created.
And there I am, stuffed into two bags
My life with you, how did it fit in two bags?
Those same bags were cutting my wrist,
as I sojourned up three flights, further and away.
It was everything but.
And I remember nights of somberly climbing
feet feeling like anvils, your words distantly
sounding like broken glass; many times I surrendered.
Today was bittersweet, like tomorrow
when you’re gone, and I’m here, but not there.
And though my arms are empty
my future is full, and our pictures tell the truer stories.
I finally climbed those three flights of stairs, alone.
Its uncertainty yearned for my fall
But I already fell before
And it didn’t really end up hurting that much,