You tell me to breathe
But after 19 years of breathing
Sometimes I want nothing more than to stop.
I hear whispers in the corner of my mind,
The ceaseless banging of time keeps me from sleep,
And the weight on my back has been growing lately.
I want to be Atlas,
To bear the burden of us all.
But my back would break with the world on it,
Just as it bends even now.
You say that it will all pass,
But with each round it rips me from myself,
And I can only wonder how much
Left there is of me.
I thought I could nourish you all with the tendons of my soul.
They come out of me like silk from a spider,
Like scarves from a magician’s sleeve.
But even those come from somewhere,
And even I need a bite to eat sometimes.
Not much.
A smile? The shimmer in your eye could fill me up.
But when you look away as the tug of time
Pulls the very core from me,
I collapse on the hollows of my insides.
Each time so far I’ve managed to save just a sigh,
Enough to inflate me up again. Just enough.
But one of these days you will steal my breath
And crush me at the same time.
What am I to do then?

I can see the weight hanging from your soul
And I wonder if you knew what you were doing when you hung it there.
It tugs at the corners of your mouth
And when you smile, well, I can see it.
It glazes your eyes and I feel it inside myself.
You uncover happiness across your face,
But your shadow is darker than it should be
And I can only guess the weight hangs there as well.
It has covered you up, smothered you,
Painted you a shade that is not quite your own.
You never bargained for a life like this,
and though you press on down the path you’ve chosen,
I can see you turn your head, longingly,
Towards the past.
When you lay your bones down,
Do they ache like the soreness in your soul?
Let them breath, open to the night,
Soothed by the gentleness of time.

Tell me, love
Did you know what you were doing
When you set the sky alive
Or the hair on your arm afire
Tell me you’ve learned
At least
Through the passing of time
And
The scratching of thoughts on your skull
That there is nothing more to life than
Broken glass and
Cups of tea and
A refreshing dip in the pool
Tell me
That the scruff of my beard and
The loudness of your voice and
The alcohol in our veins isn’t enough
For you or me.
Tell me that
Just because we don’t always
Mean what we do
Or do what we mean
Our words can sometimes speak
Louder
Than our actions
Especially when
They speak with each other.