when i became a menace to myself,
i found myself voluntarily doing the impossible
and the only possible action i could do is breathe and hum along to songs,
rhythmic patterns that build me and straighten my knees up
my eyes were looking down at the fractures on the earth, looking at my fingers stick out the dry yellow dead grass
my degradation was thought to be six feet below
i’m 5’6 and my fingers sticking out were reaching towards a tower of magic and happy prisons
dreams of sceneries, full of laughter and reassurance
full of trust and rich environments
and not even a trickle above a gram of *******, can make you seem this close to Gods feet
and you’ll share playlists to the ones who want to fly without wings off of buildings
and re-up for their sake
you’ll see the variant in the sky you cried to for years
and arrogate your state of emotion
you’ll be gone
oldie