She thinks she is a ghost
but she cannot see that her body carries
the soul that nourishes the universe from within.

since i decided that the chain was too short
and the anchor i had attached myself to
was pulling me under

it's been Three Months since I've sharply inhaled and
let go of the rope
and stood slack-jawed
and in awe
at the calm with which you watched it suddenly go limp in your relaxed palms,
and then shrugged,
and retreated.

Three Months since I've turned my head toward the horizon
and rubbed the tension of staring at a backward-moving object
from my weary neck.

Three Months of my infatuation worming its way back into more isolated parts of my mind,
and festering in my body,
becoming quiet--
like the absence of a laugh track
while the film keeps playing.

And I feel like I am still holding my breath.
It's different now because I finally see the pattern.
Breathe easily,
       breathe excitedly,
gasp,
hold your breath,
                  feel it abruptly leave your body as you deflate
find your breath again,
                  have it stolen from you once more

The question is: what will lure my lungs back into blissful submission again? And how much time am I left with to enjoy my returned sanity?

And if you came back,
I think it would feel like a falling dream.
I think I am in the falling dream.
I am grasping and flailing and fearing the crash,
everything becoming a quickening blur of
irrational analysis and false epiphanies,
an asymptote approaching demise...
until
i wake up
(and realize that I never really was falling).

Only to have the ground snatched from under my feet once again
but instead of down, I will go up.
(and then down again)
I wish I wasn't familiar with this pattern.

Tie my heart to an anchor and
Drop it into the sea
Blow bubbles into my lungs
And just let them be

Do not pull me apart and fix me
Do not even try
Just leave my veins tangled
Let me bleed -- watch me die

Because you cannot fight
When there is no more war
You cannot run
Without running too far

Tie my heart to an anchor and
Throw it into the sea
Blow bubbles into my lungs
And
     Do
         Not
             Resuscitate
                 **Me

The strings of her heart are woven through his fingers and when she's sad, she leans back, lets the feeling of falling remind her that she's alive
And even though it only hurts
And even though it makes her want to die
She leans
Most of the time he leaves the strings slack, he's curled up inside himself
Inside all the tangles of his mind and that time he almost died
But when he feels strong, he gives a pull just to remind her that he's alive
Just a little tug to keep her on the ride

She bites, and it ******* stings
She slaps and lashes and apologizes night after night after
Night, and in the morning she is terrified
Because she knows that her strings are made out of knives
Because she knows what happens when you remove the blade, she's seen the blood on the tile
Seen the blood in his eyes
His strings are invisible
So she never knows what he wants
All ******* in him, he jerks and twitches, his strings are taut in the throes of invisible tides
So it looks like she's possessed on the other end of his lines
They're both so sorry
So much of the time

I am just a tangle of strings
Not particularly tied to anything
I ponder my knots with sticky fingers waiting
For the day when I decide to rip myself apart all over someone else
Just like all my friends