Limbo sits with me like a friend.
I wish I never knew her,
but she made the first introduction.
At a time when
the rest of my life betrayed me,
and that life left me-
gasping for some form of function.
That's when Limbo came to find me.
So now I sit with Limbo,
and she tells me spiraling stories
of things I've thought of many times before—
again and again and again.
Limbo doesn’t listen very well,
and she isn't very helpful.
She follows me around, everywhere I go.
Telling me-
I can’t go back, I know I can’t,
but everything forward seems
like broken glass.
And so Limbo and I sit
on bus stop benches, waiting
for direction.
We sit with family on holidays,
passing around overcooked chicken.
We sit at our office chairs, wishing we were anywhere but there
We sit in an awful, unsettled rhythm—
Limbo and I,
Limbo and me.