sit with me on the kitchen floor at 4 am, eating microwaved indian leftover from last night
don’t say a word
we can linger in the quiet seconds between night and day and breathe air that, for once, does not suffocate us with its terrifying vastness
sit with me on the kitchen floor, these white walls stripped bare and left emotionless but aching
if you hold my hand maybe it will keep the darkness at bay
our skin lit only by a single light bulb, precariously flickering between bright and dull as the world outside our window sleeps
sit with me on the kitchen floor, and maybe this loneliness will become something less profound and more content, or at least more resigned.
lay me out, bare and exposed to the wind, and i would trust you to keep me safe
the tension in my shoulders gets a little less around you, i breathe slower, my limbs don’t shake, and i remember what it is to be on steady ground;
when i close a hand around your sleeve i think what i’m really trying to say is please don’t let me go
so whatever it is that makes you turn away when i look in your direction too long, i can fix it
i think i would do anything for you.
so whatever it is to the wind, and i would do anything for you.
that makes you to be on steady ground;
when i close a little less around you, i remember what i’m really trying to say is please.
the world, dizzying.
we spend our days spinning galaxies from the tips of our fingers and hoping they will arrange themselves into something that makes sense.
i would love nothing more than to be swallowed into the abyss with you.
a candle, dim lit in the pockets of your heart and i will use my body as a shield from the wind.
inside the wreckage: could it be something more? inside myself i find nothing but this and inside you i find everything else.
break down the walls with me, stand next to me while we redefine this triumph of humanity with steel in our eyes and a burning in our cheeks;
these material things have nothing on us.
we are the makers of ourselves, of
this careful anger and this scared beating of my heart and this shaking of my limbs, and i will sew patches over these holes in my skin and make me into something bigger.
take this needle and thread
keep me company until this all starts looking like something i know how to understand.
— The End —