doesn’t quite cover it.
When you’re smiling
while transparent fluid fills your lungs
and the glass that divides you
grows daily layers,
you wonder if this could possibly be
what you used to think it was
They told you the turning doesn’t stop,
but you didn’t get it —
you couldn’t have.
And now useless isolation
captains your world
with the confidence you had.
You sit behind yellow curtains
and kiss freckles
that remind you of sunshine,
while the questions burn holes through them.
You look for the moment
when balloons will fall
and a white light will spin circle beams in the sky
to make it your turn,
through the cracks in the fence.
You know exactly what should happen…
no, you actually don’t.
You just watch head movies
and stay on the ground
without losing the connection…
sometimes forgetting you exist out of dreams.
You’ve never felt quite so inadequate,
or rather, underqualified and ill-informed. Limited. Lost.
But you don’t like those words.
You prefer: floating;
with a carefree that’s much too careful
in a potential pool that’s much too option-less.
You can’t say that you particularly relate to yourself,
and it surprises you when you get pegged
(even though it shouldn’t).
You just keep looking at the blank
that is everything,
and wait for the color drop clue —
like waiting for the phone to boil in the ringing pot.