I live for the moments
when I stand up and
feel the blood rush
away from my head
and into my chest

leaving me with
suffocating clarity
and a hint of hope
that I may finish my thought
before I hit the ground
so that I can rest easy
knowing that I didn’t lose my
head in the clouds
under the blankets of
dizzy and nauseous
seconds, split in half by my
obsessive fingertips,

tracing the inside of
eyelids blinking too
fast to catch the world
around their spinning-
thread heads and hearts,

writing songs to the
rhythm of the ringing
in my ears only to hear
that the sound of an
empty ocean raging
against this ribcage
container of broken
promises and worn out,
secondhand dreams
has drowned the last
bit of the kid left inside

screaming to be let out
into the world for
everyone to see and judge
because let’s face it,
they’ll judge every ounce
that I pour out in front
of their half-cast glances

but only for a second,
split in half by

my
obsessive fingertips that tangled
themselves up with self doubt and anxiety

my
dreams that I didn’t chase
because they’d gotten a head start
and I was too afraid that I’d trip
and scrape my pride on the road

my
constant fear of writing myself
into a scene that I won’t be able
to improvise my way out of

but only for a second
split in half by my fingertips