I am the unpacked parachute
that will not stop the fall
but the fall will be beautiful.
Till the ground catches us
crushing flesh under the force of
gravity’s hateful love,
as you take in air and give it up;
Slip in the quicksand
that becomes mixed with blood.
Till, the dried terror trap becomes mud
and the earth spins like a ****** up
treadmill. You will learn to feel
just enough to die from flying to high
and coming down from that
hormone honey drug,
cause I am not big or soft enough
to stop this collapse.
Perhaps you must be flattened.
Perhaps this **** must happen
so you can be free.