Breathe in,
Breathe out,
...
I'm lying in bed
Honey-sweet sleep is pulling my eyes to unReality, dark and velvet and purple
But I got these words tossing in my belly
Roiling and churning up my throat
Trying to spill out
And burn the pale ****** air
BUT
at the same time
Trying to crawl back down
Scraping with just-cut claws down to my toes curling up in plush-snugly socks.
Scared to be born.
SO
I'm lying in bed
Ready to spin truth wrapped in fibs sprinkled with simile
I just feel frustrated
Because I'm saying the same thing over and over again
But it's just NOT RIGHT.
...
Here's the deal:
I'M NOT REAL.
Or rather, I might be real, but my existence is highly improbable.
I feel weightless,
like I could jump off a bridge and fly
But I can't even convince myself
I just hover on the knife's edge of uncertainty.
Am I real?
Or can I fly?
I know it's one or the other.
And I know it's double or nothing.
Either I'm real- just a person
(but- here's the rub- one who knows her limits...)
Or I'm not- I can fly and dance and
love men and **** dragons.

...

This knife blade is anguish.
I'm not suicidal.
I just want it to stop.

...

I need someone to prove me wrong.
I need you to look me in the eyes
And know that I am yours
And know that you are mine
And know beyond a doubt I exist
And maybe

just maybe

I'll see myself in your eyes
And you in mine
And some of that reflected certainty
might.
just.
stick.

....

*do you love me?