It is 3:00am and I am standing in the kitchen
With the refrigerator open –
the light stays on without me having to shut the door.
When I press the button on the inside – Oblivion calls my soul
by the wrong name. Asking me to apologize
to my cuticles for my listless romance with memory.
But, I have lost my ability to see.
But, I say. “Oblivion?” My cries arise.
Please. The suicide-note-less suicides. Why do they sit in the back of the freezer? Tortured mediator. Why do we push to keep them alive? How the Hell am I supposed to leave them behind? That our souls travel faster than light? Oblivion: in forgetting lies the liquefication of time. “Oblivion.” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be floating down the River Lethe somewhere?”
Not here. Not now. Bury me there. Let me drink from your skull.
“Oblivion.” Tell me that I am forgotten by the dead.
Please, help me unscrew the damn lightbulb.
“Oblivion.”