i wish
there were ways
you could let yourself out;
slip little bits of your soul
back into the wold
free it from your vessel,
your prison,
let it no longer anchor you.
the cracks in my skin:
be the gateway to
my end.

you will be buffeted by the winds
you will sail far over the seas,
skimming its surfaces;
the hot winds in the desert might parch you.
and you will have lived
as long as you think you did.