Learn it well

You're digging for something worthwhile, through the day and through the night. You're digging for something that matters. You check your pocket but it's gone. You try to remember how it happened, how you got here. You try to remember their faces, their fears, what they asked of you. You try to see the sky, you try to run away. You're drifting through the mud now, a spinning angel, a corkscrew in the haze. You're burning up, burning and burning away. You try to remember her face, the face that's all around you, but it's far away.

The night shift begins early, your boss is calling you girly. The customers are rude and uncouth, you unconsciously retreat into visions of your youth. The night shift begins early, your wife is calling you burly, as she runs her hands across your back. The night shift begins early, your hair feels much more curly, as you help your mother clean and pack. The night shift begins early, and you're nowhere to be found.

You're digging again, the wet grit beneath your nails a simple reminder. You're enjoying the pain, the sensation of it feels much kinder, much kinder than you can recall. The whispers take you back, back to a time when you had some gall. "Make it right" or "Make it mean something" or "Make us have a happy ending." You know it's your responsibility. Everything rests on your lasting durability.

Morning once again, and someone is calling. Someone is always calling. The blinds are broken, and sunlight shatters across the dirty beige walls of your room. You can never remember falling asleep, and never believe you have awoken. Someone is calling. Rain drips gently from a slit in the ceiling, falling securely into a dusty bucket. Your cats drink from it eagerly, clambering atop each other for a taste. Someone is calling. The postman leaves another notice, and you use it as an ash tray. You clutch at your heart and begin to cry. Someone is calling. You mutter something to yourself as you stagger to the window, something about yesterday or tomorrow or making it better. You tentatively look outside, eyeing the windswept desolation. Someone. is. calling.