A caress.
Like none other.
Fibery fingers on my neck.
Coarse, but strong.
These fingers
knew.
Knew what they were doing.

Snug,
around my neck. Supporting
my head.
My heavy
head
Felt so heavy.
I rested it
against the fingers
So soothing.
Trusting.

It felt right.
This intimate embrace.
Between
my friend and I
my noose and I.

Sometimes I want to
speak. But it's like the words are
caught
on something, feels like
fear. Tastes like warmth
filling up, squeezing
out space. My breath catches.
Entangled in nerves, veins,
arteries and rigid bone. A mesh.
Fear's web. Words
try to come out
but
nothing.
not
even
a
gasp
for
air.

A little pressure's
good,
makes me feel alive.
A spurt, a *******, a gasp
for air.
Notice what it's like to
draw breath
on a glasspane,
a fleeting sign of life. Disappears,
rises into the sky or falls to the ground,
who knows,
unstuck from the tangible,
an invisible mist,
particles from a soul, drifting
unhinged.
Do they come back?
I don't know.
Do we lose a little of our soul with
every exhalation
every sigh of sadness
of elation.
Something drawn in,
openmouthed, gaping.
A little fear, of something unknown?
All our lives:
give a little of ourselves,
take a little something else.

Windswept locks on end,
tugging at my mind.
Stretching from my soul,
a welded tube strains.
A bird in a cage,
wearing away bars.
Reams of coiled rope squirm
flapping at my sides.
Thin sticks move in pairs
and poke at the dark.
The dark that ne'er leaves,
my side nor inside.
It clings with purpose.
Is it worse when
the pressure comes from inside?
Is it worse when
you can't escape and implode?
Oh!

There was a silence,
That I could not miss,
in my head, in my heart,
in his sweet kiss.

Said the wind to me,
as I walked home,
But isn't this better,
Than being alone?

I had no answer,
but a blank-eyed stare.
With pursed lips,
I wished I could care.

Leaves changed and turned,
But I hung around,
Waiting to be plucked,
Hoping to be found.

And on a low branch I sat,
Watching life pass me by,
Blowing further away,
With each passing sigh.

I wandered on the wind,
With no end in sight,
Sleeping where I was lain,
each dreary night.

The sun rose gracefully,
with her morning rays,
A new day she hearkened,
and yesterday's grave.

They say,
what goes up must come down,
They don't,
what goes down must come up.
Is the potential limitless then,
of the depth of lowliness
of your obscurity?
Until at last they forget,
you Were once
on the planes of the masses.