First things first,
you’ll have to remove your hat and
the plank strapped to your limbs.
Your body will be used to thumb-wrestle with
gravity.

Please remove the staples from your chest.
Find your new set of lungs.
There is space to breathe here.
Take this new heart.
You’ll beat slower, suspended.
Circadian rhythms will not help you.

Your body will become a willow in a storm,
never breaking.
There are no mistakes here.

You’ll learn to drink silence for sustenance,
washed down with madness and tepid water.
You’ll learn to compensate for lacking conversation, hold secret meetings
in the basement of your mind.
You’ll learn how to disappear in a room.

No matter how hard you pound against walls
they remain padded,
concealed behind billowing drapery.
No one will hear you.

But, you’ll fit in fine.
You’ll stretch your skin as a tattooed leotard.
You won’t grow up,
You’ll grow inward
fortifying your lungs with weeds.
L’appel du vide, your distinctive urge to jump down from
high places will be quelled
by the grace in lifting.

Take respite,
There is nothing left to destroy here.
There are no checkpoints to neglect.
There is no need to be a hero.

Still,
you’re not convinced this is so much better.