If I sit to still I become numb
but if I move, I fall

Im stuck in a liminal space
an eternal liminal space

I dont know what comes next
Or if even there is a next

Its as though I'm in a waiting room doctor
A waiting room where the doctor will never shop up

save face and leave
hold your quiet
like a secret
before thunder

leave the wound
mark the trail of my passing
reminiscent —
that we do for love
that we do for vengeance

you forgot, my dear
to **** you aim
for the heart

what is the blurry
between the joy and the blues,
we are daffodils flying in the wind
one moment
butterflies falling in the rain
another?

i am overzealous and underwhelming. i say somethings and i regret them. i say nothings and i wish i hadn't. i am weighted and unbalanced. i place value where i think it belongs. i lean heavy into things for too long. i am uncertain and so sure. i run out of thoughts before my heart runs out of feelings. my thoughts run over and overwhelm my heart. i am liminal and concrete. im incomplete but hoping i could be.

walk, keep walking
don't stop, don't turn around
look forwards for the possible lives
that you could live
and pay homage to your old self.

run, keep running
don't hesitate, don't turn back
look ahead for more and more
that you could have
that you could be.

sing, don't stop singing
don't be sad, don't turn all mellow
look around for your own rhythm
that could serenade your soul
and make you whole again.

she existed in the liminal spaces
between evening and night
a frosted marble statue
decorating the stone patio
in front of a white brick building
and she reaches out
her hands beckoning
any passerby
to spare her a glance
and a kind word
she existed in the liminal spaces
between love and apathy
a bright smile and blinding eyes
staring blankly into the shadows
in the corner of her favorite coffee shop
lifting her cup to her lips
a silent toast in my direction
telling me that
i did not go unnoticed
she existed in the liminal spaces
between your lips and mine
exchanging cold air cigarette smoke
between two lungs
like lovers
words dying as they hit
the cold november air
in the backseat of a yellow bus
and she breathes into the side of my neck
as i gather my thoughts into
words on my fingertips
and she tells me
he does not mind
she existed in the liminal spaces
between streetlights and mountain roads
hands on the worn leather wheel
screaming beautiful words
at the top of her lungs
she overlapped my melody
with her own
and in the pause between words
we switched effortlessly
gliding into the next verse
like practiced artists
and fated lovers
and the best of friends
we harmonized