“Sometimes I feel like I’ll just float away”
Such words have never resonated
So well with my mortal being
I am alive but I feel no peace
I am here but I feel elsewhere
Like there’s no space carved out for
Someone like me
No true home or foretold destiny
My blood is stagnant and stale
Never boiling or anticipating
Or shivering in lust and fear
These bones could very well turn to ash
And disintegrate into the earth’s cold soil
Perhaps then
I could reconcile and feel whole
Once again
Perhaps then
I could appease my anxiousness within

I once ate the grapes of a pretty good person
They were sweet, juicy and had little seeds
They lodged themselves in my heart
Where they became the memories I held dear

But somewhere along the way, The grapes
turned sour and meager and each bite had a
tinge of regret, I'd spit out the seeds
Only once in a fit of rage, I'd swallowed one

And it grew, and it grew, and the vines
would coil around my heart, my lungs,
piercing both and growing, feasting,
To replace my life with that of your memory

My liver was drunk on the fermentation of
my sealed lungs, my crushed heart,
my martyred self, who spread bare across your roots
It tastes a bit like your moldy basement.