Geese take flight at dawns first light. Falcons soar into the sun. The noble eagle ascends on the air currents that take the bird to the highest mountain peaks. A Red Tailed Hawk swoops down from a tree into a valley then back up again with it's prey. Magnificent creatures who master the wind and take flight at will. To stop and watch their beauty is to be lost and humbled. What wonder it is to see birds on the wind.

I cannot help anticipating the day I
wake
beside you.
To hear your voice in reality
and not the speaker of my phone
would be
to wake to a dream,
instead of from one.
I've dreamt of you twice since Tuesday.
Days have blurred together,
as have the years we've known each other.
Almost like the way you edit your pictures;
these are soft,
beautiful,
emotional moments,
and I only wish I capture more.

your very existence is like the oxygen;

you make my insides burn,
yet i just can't seem to have enough of you.

hell,
one minute without you
and i'm already suffocating;
turning blue and purple,

ran cold;
limp;
lifeless;
empty.

would it be weird if i told you that it’s love i feel?
would you believe me if i said it’s real?
believe me or not, that’s what i got
infatuated, yeah, that’s what i first thought
you say obsession, i say it’s really not
why deny the possibility of it being love?

i tell you i love you each and every day
i mean it, i show it. as often as i say it,
i wonder if you even know it.
and i repeat it for reasons,
i’ll say it over throughout the seasons.

you think i only love the way you make me feel.
i actually love more about you than there is to tell.

every 28 days,
the human skin replenishes itself.
my hands are tired of building new homes
on top of old eviction letters.
I am aching for a body
that treats me like a cure,
and not the disease that needs it.

I live as a counterfeit version of myself;
I am a kleptomaniac who steals the breath
from people that would have found a use for it.
tell me how to refund
what I didn't buy.

my veins are a breeding ground for despondency,
my bones a shelter for malaise.
to try to be kind to myself
is to cauterize a wound
after the infection has already spread.

i remember twisting my fingers in each hand, removing the suction between the bones with a popping click
click
click
click
i remember that sound, and how it wasn't nearly as loud as i wanted it to be, i remember the motion not being enough to cover up the trembling of my hands

i remember the moisture in my palms, the blood oozing up between my fingers, the red half-moons embedded in each palm
(crazy, vivid crimson)

i remember the soil and dust and dirt and twigs in my hair,
on my skin
in my clothes
on my body

i remember the cracked weakness every time i opened my mouth, as though i was cradling glass shards in my throat

i remember throwing up over the cracked asphalt road as i ran in the dying light;
my knees buckling beneath me,
my stomach lurching forward,
my lungs burning with each breath

i remember not knowing what was blood or sweat or tears in the dark, feeling the pain pool inside and the thoughts dribble out of the back of my skull,
gnawing to get back in, a dozen angry wasps knocking at sanity's door

and i remember the poison in your bones, the delirium in your eyes, and the cut of your touch
and being consumed alive by your invasion
never to return