This is all normal -
Petting dogs,
Nodding at strangers,
Holding the door open.

Sometimes this all makes me
Go underwater and cry,
Where my tears blend in with
Everything.

I wonder why
I'm even wondering why
we seek joy in these small moments.

I sit so naturally, perched,
On a tall, naked, tree branch
Puncturing the grey sky
With its vague horizon
And brisk, quiet air.

she asked "do you feel safe?" her voice gentle, curling around my ear before the words softly entered into my mind, leaving kisses along the path they travel to my brain
kisses that bloom into flowers, taking root deep into gray mater, the flowers grow behind my eyes, leaves and petals pushing at my eyelids, bursting to get out before falling as liquid drops of silver that bleed out around my eyes and into the real world, the real world where actions have consequences and people can feel safe. I meet her eyes with my own, liquid silver and flowers and thorns and tell her "no"

With a heightened perception,
I observe the sensation
of my thumb on my fingers
as I rub them together,
the clock ticking away at 4:45 before me...
There are blue ink marks on each finger
and the air tastes of stale coffee.

Everything feels very slow,
and I find myself,
once again,
waiting to go home,
waiting for the clock to tick to 5:00.
Everything so slow,
with nothing to do except wait.

what was i supposed to be?
imploded stardust, floating aimlessly across
the universe expanding, never minding
cruelty escaping, dissipating,
evaporating,
but i can't be nothing if i was something,
laws of conservation of energy rejecting
my lack of preservation.

i want liquid gold inside my veins,
ruptured mind, kaleidoscope bones
creaking in the night.

i'm lost, florescent daylight  
cold and grim, fabricated and burning my retinas
an eight hour parable trying, to stay afloat
but coming home and wishing dark behind
eyelids; burnt.

what was i supposed to be?
sunshine reflected on flowers
warm and liquid, amber in the windows
dripping, pain immersed in honey
making the best out of a leak flowing
endlessly through the tap,
my kitchen sink old but practical.

i was supposed to be me,
whatever that may be.

I carry a demon on my back named Anxiety. He whispers whenever I feel serenity and shouts when hell breaks loose in my world. He gnaws on my flesh and devours my bones; his viscous fangs are my gloomiest thoughts. I stare at the four walls in my room to forget my injuries, but I am still bleeding.

And even if an entire crowd were to witness me and worship me, they wouldn't catch a glimpse of him as he bends and breaks my will to his twisted ways. No one will be my shield; no one will be my spear. I shiver and shudder but it never meets their eyes.

I am battered, broken, and breathless, as his army marches down the ruins of my haven. I hide it all underneath a composed demeanor, but it's just a farce on the verge of falling.

Sleep is my only escape, but even then he lingers in the darkest corners of my neurons. I am smothered by his hands, till my day and face turn blue, and I try to cry out but it's just me and the same four walls.