The day I lost myself was
the day you found your love.
Someday I will be revived
like a night with new stars,
and you'll be laying
on your homemade quilt
staring up at me to
make a wish.
But stars hold grudges too.
And I have a feeling
your wish will fly
right past the light
and into darkness.

I know you don't know this
but that's why I'm writing it.
When you called me baby girl last night,
everything inside me that's felt dead
came back to life.
It was like you breathed life into me,
like god did to Adam.
Even if you didn't mean to
you just created a whole new world.

The air is too clean,
not a trace of whispered lies
not a cloud of late night smoke.
Air that is not my own,
air that does not belong to anyone
within a three mile radius of my brainwaves.
The linens are too crisp
as if there hasn't been a single wounded soul
to lay and shed blood,
as if not a single voice has
ripped through its threads.
This is not my home.

With every step I take
the ground ***** an ounce
of energy
right from the soles of my feet.
It charges a fee
for every second I stand
still.
It’s taken everything I have.
I have no energy left and
I’m begging you to carry me.

The leaves piled all around
are like me.
My guts on the sidewalk.
Red and green,
every color you can think of
changing with every blow of the wind.
Make it stop.
Stop the wind.

Watch me fall like
a baby from its Mama’s arms -
not knowing or feeling.
But I’m scared.
I’m scared for my Mama
watching me fall.
And I’m scared for
my bed
that holds me and loves me.
I’m scared for me.
Can you be scared for me?
Can you be scared
with me?

Please.

I can feel the trees breathing.
I can see them
inhale our blemished truths,
pulling them deeper and deeper
until their souls are filled with fantasies.
I can see them
exhale all their dry, dark worries,
trying to force them out,
but the power embeds
in their lungs,
deeper than the fantasies can reach.
When I watch them
I can feel them breathing their worries
right down my spine
just as I've breathed my blemished truths
into their souls.