I am lost.

I am vacant.

I have no space to occupy.

-

There is air.

I can’t breathe it.

There are only hard lips

and crushed butterflies.

-

I see the sky.

I am lost in its

appeal to steal me away.

-

I contemplate

and I consider the

choice of flying far far away.

-

I was once only a dreamer,

a doe-eyed romantic,

who wrote letters next to

short coffee cups.

-

But the cups got taller,

and the words grew longer,

and I moved onto Wonderland.

-

It’s the in-between, the far

behind-the-scenes, where

no one will ever look to find

these dreams.

-

So I’ll store you away there,

with your tea and honeysuckle,

and I’ll tie my feet to the bed

so I can’t leave again.

-

I contemplate again,

and I consider the choice

of flying far far away,

-

of jumping on a plane, or of you

doing these things, but then I

remember one truth:

you live in reality, and I don’t.