An Interview With Dwight

A poem by Teddie Stewart

Tell me how it feels to hear voices that only talk to you…

Do they give you stories?

Whisper muddy love and raise your skin?

You say

“Their words give me stability”

You seem to crawl from thought to thought, adjusting yourself into some shape that feels more comfortable.

So why you are permanently slumped?

You say

“My depression made me veal”

How do you collect enough drowsiness to sleep through the day?

You grab ahold of my shoulders and rock me right to left… and right to left…

“Infant tactics,” you say.

If you lay your head down, does the weight feel like a burden? Do your nightmares ever cease?

“Once I push suicides, but I try to never let it get that far” with a slight grimace chuckle.

“I must say, you are kindness in a divine casing, why are you letting it turn cold?”

He tells me

“It’s getting harder to stack my spine and relieve myself”