the nights contain all of the whispers of safety that are lost to
the harsh fluorescent lighting of gas stations and packed gray slush that lines the
sidewalks.

i tell myself that ragged teeth and claws line the hallways and darkened corners
but the quickened pace of your socks on my cold feet
dictates that my fears do not lie in what anyone believes
only in what we cannot see

listen to what i'm saying

i've spent too many hours weaving petals between my fingertips
hoping the vines stealing circulation will bleed safety
trying to discern where my body lies
and if it belongs

each time my fingers scrape the pavement and i stumble forward
the tender croons of the world sheds its skin with a reptilian ease
and comes into focus that i don't welcome

and the voices
crooning in my ear
coaxing me towards simple endings and undue explanations
towards the salt-crusted ground, towards the wind, towards the erosion

listen to what i'm saying.

my throat is caught around the blunt edges of the words i need to explain.

i'm sick.