come to meet me, friend
in this sunken place.
the time is now.
like the spider on his thread
hanging from an erroneous web
creeping his way
to freedom.
he knew these things
because he knew everything
he knew the empty bottles of ginger beer
to stave away the sickness that comes
from simply being
******* alive.
he knew the smell of ***** and
the sight of bruises.
he knew the sound of sobs
and the audible chorus of a heart.
he knew the pain so well
he could trace the cracks in its palms
with his eyes closed and
no hands at all.
the pain which has so dutifully begun
the hibernation
and deliberation inside
the wrong body.
and now i know
just as he knew
that death is simply a door
and i have found the key.