do you have moments, where you can’t imagine a future?
you’re lying there, staring at the
same walls
same ceilings
same words
with nothing but the same feelings-
empty and pale,
like there’s no reason to go on,
when you can’t even do enough to fail.
the future is coming, but you don’t want to be in it,
can’t imagine yourself in it.
where you just want to stop.
everything.
and just sit there for a while.
maybe not death, as that’s too permanent,
but something close to it.
when you can feel the rope around your neck,
the razor on your wrist,
the way the pills taste.
you can imagine it, and you aren’t sure if it’s what you want,
or just the feelings you imagine it will give you

she moves to me
whether in a picture or sat against the sea
as a cloud she floats gently above me
the currents and the streams
her neck where sections sit
the way her necklace rests ever so delicately
her soft brown skin
through all this land
she moves to me

she is
gold
sunshine on a crystal morning
and pearls
silk
nothing
everything

she moves to me
whether its a mirror or stood against the sky
as the music the cosmos makes in our silence
the stars and the planets
her neck where moons beam
the way her necklace follows her collorbone
through all this space
she moves to me
whether its gravity or we as entangled particles
and we are in every moment as we are together
our quantum dancing
her neck where time begins
the way her necklace falls so gracefully into place
through all this time
she moves to me

I kiss her just below her right ear
and I know now is everywhere
and everytime is now
the sun and the moon
the spiral galaxy
the walls that hold in time
I kiss her just below her right ear

she moves to me
whether its the wind or impossible odds
as the dreams we hold dear and our hope that keeps us strong
our faith and love
her neck which i caress gently
the way her necklace seems to retire when she does
I kiss her on the eyelids
she moves to me

If want was water,
I would be drowning, my head under completely
and my oxygen quickly depleting.
If confusion was cold,
My fingers would be numb and I wouldn't even
have a coat to ward off the freezing.
If youth was you,
It would be slipping away by the second,
And I can't get a hold to stop it.
Now,
my air is gone,
I'm shivering to the bone,
and can't keep a hold on.
But, this is only a poem:
I know I'm not suffocating, subzero, or slipping.
But I can't help but feel like the more I write,
the farther I get from reality
and the closer I get to metaphor mortality.