Sometimes
not always,
but sometimes -

Give up.

Toss yourself,
your whole self,
into the waves
and come out clean.

Clean and wanting
for nothing.
Glossy and hollow
all at once.

Don’t leave your car keys
under a rock -
that’s called cheating.

Sometimes,
just sometimes,
the abyss
is your oyster.

Every day I fall out of bed,
gather my bones,
and try to imagine what it would be like
to disconnect my head from my body
and watch it float lazily
up through the green & blue mess,
like some discarded balloon.  

Everyone will tell you to stay grounded,
you know,
but I’ve had my feet stuck in the mud
as the years trickle by,
like a faucet mostly shut.

I just keep growing roots:
gnarled tree standing idly by,
branches waving in the wind,
at my dumb balloon head,
drifting through the scenery,
ambitious and directionless.

It's more than just
live or die,
you know.

There is an ocean of grey area-
limbo
quick sand.

A place where I don't want to stick around
yet
I don't want to disappear completely.

So I just float down the highway-
half there
and half not-
underwhelmed with the possibility of
my future flushed,
and overwhelmed
with the monotonous
trudging on
that I'm so well versed in.

Thing is

I don't want to jump,
but I just wish I could slip into the Atlantic
for a bit
to try it on-
like a wig,
or an evening gown,
absolutely priceless for a day.

I don’t want to be alone
But only to be surrounded by a sea of ghosts.
Maybe I need some help.

I’m coughing up puddles of black stuff
And I feel like I’m covered in bees.
Maybe I need some help.

The January sky has a pallor.
The snow is ordinary and monotone.
I blend right in;
I’m a vacancy.. I’m the void.
I think I need some help.

I would fling myself at the feet of the appropriate person.
I just need to find the appropriate person.
Someone who isn’t dead inside per se,
But happens to have a similar hole in their heart.
And really we should be dead by now.
Really it should be over and it shouldn’t hurt.

You’re half gone.
Your resolve wavers like the tremble in your voice.
I’m in a free fall.
I’m plummeting through floors of hospital rooms
Trying to find your SELF.

Losing you half way feels like a funeral in small parts.
I wake up each day hoping I might get to see you again
And leave having grieved for another piece.

I don’t even know if you can hear me.
I don’t know who I’m asking for
Help.

Slowly, eventually but all at once,
I realize that I’m it.
I’m the help.

I’ll sweep up my spine and claw through the fog.
I’ll come out of my coma to wake you from yours
And maybe if I dig hard enough
I can put some of you back together.
Maybe there will be a reason for all of this.
There has to be a reason for all of this.

I’ll be your ghost anytime,
Anyway
It’s an honor
It’s my right
Let’s clench our fists & drag this thing on

Sometimes I think you’re still around
Hiding in a pile of cold sheets
Up in your treehouse
Numb as a dummy
& thinner too

It’s becoming unclear
Who is haunting who

You’re a full set of lungs.
You’ve got arms long enough to stretch
from your back porch to the ocean
and brown eyes big enough to hold your abundance of hope.

When I think of you I’m right back to:
midnight starry walks in those woods,
lucky to be in your light,
drunk off my face on that stuff
you give off.
Lost girl finds a promise somewhere
out there
of finding herself
in the canopy of trees,
or the neon moon,
or the leaves jumping ship
& falling at our feet.

I’m still driving home from that place
where everything was both within
& out of reach.
I’m still wondering what you’re made of.
I’m still half thinking that I’ve made you up.
I’m still wishing that I had lost
my keys in the sand that night.

I left my heart on a subway bench.  
I’m in need of a transplant anyway.
It’s hard to say
If this incident
was truly a mistake
or something purposeful.

Maybe I just forgot to leave a note.
“Free to a good home..”

It’s a ****** nest
of faulty wiring.
It’s as honest as a metronome
but as chewed up as a stray.

I couldn’t sell it.
I couldn’t give it away.

Reluctantly,
I’ll drag it home
on a leash.  
I’ll shove it back
into the cage of my ribs
and wait for another stubborn start.
Guess I’ll have to jail it
like some unwanted beast
howling half-forgotten lines
to pass the time;

If I only had a-