From the 24th floor
Everything seems so...
Insignificant.

I poke my head out the screenless window
And feel the intense rush of air
That steals the breath from my lungs
Like our first kiss did.

Life has gotten harder since then.
I feel like even the slightest of pressure
Will cave in my soul
And loosen my resistance to that screenless window.

I sat on the ledge today.
I contemplated it when you left for school.
I let my legs hang free from almost the top
Of the tallest building east of Montreal.

I long for that rush of air
The inability to breathe
As your body plummets to the ground
At terminal velocity.

I want to feel the adrenaline in my veins
As I kick off the wall
And let my worries fly away
As I descend into the arms of sorrow.

I dreamt of it the first night here.
I felt my entire body disintegrate
Under the weight of the world
As I crashed into the pavement...

And I can't help but wonder
If I'll actually witness the separation of my soul from my body
And watch my fractured frame bleed out on the ground
Like I did when I was dreaming.

I can only imagine how free I would finally feel
Released fully into the arms of sorrow
And letting that embrace take me away from all the pain
Forevermore.

the clanging when the gates open
as the dogs bark, shut the gate only to hear rusty
metal screech rusty metal, i think
i am home

gravel crunch under my shoes, crunch, crunch
to open the screenless screen door, push
aside the heavy sliding second door, i think
i am home

walk into the canary room with its rich
maroon-tiled floor, turn right for the stairs, leave your
shoes before you go 10 steps up, i think
i am home

another door is wide open, smell the waft of dog-shampoo,
dog burst through, get slapped on the shins with its heavy wagging
tail and invites you the the dark green couch, i think
i am home

walk on the wooden floor as the bookshelves rattle
when i pass by, rattle, rattle, leave my bag on the chair, reach the fridge,
look for food and sit on the polished yellow table, i think
i am home

the last room and its rich dark brown door, with its
antique bed: lay down, contemplate, count the squares above it--48
blink, open another door to the balcony, graze the cold cement, i think
i am home

look into the backyard with patches of dead grass, inhale oxygen,
exhale sadness, go back inside and smile, finally, i think
i am home

as i smell that unique scent of mom in the bathroom, see the table
dad made from ply woods, sort my sister's things, smile at my brother's grad picture,
sit with the dog on the couch, scratch its ears, i know
i am home

midnight strikes, detach from the computer, rub tired eyes, brush my
teeth on the blue-tiled sink, reach the orange door quietly, take one last glance on
the mirror and enter the capiz faux-door of the bedroom we all share, hear
all of your soft snores and shufflings under the blanket,
collapse on the bed, this is it.
i am home.

She wakes up every day with a telescopic
sweater person staring at her face.
The smoke filled room is foggy and
reminiscent of a dreary London afternoon,
Sunlight slowly filters through a screenless
glass pane that lies behind the dusty wooden
panels that protect her from the blinding light.
The dust dances effortlessly through the streaks
of filtered sun as if they were a couple which
have danced this dance many times before.
With a heavy thump the whimsy of dancing
dust is taken away as the reality of chaos sets in.
In a flurry of blond hair and the ever present
feeling of fleeting time she reluctantly untangles
herself from the rainbow colored cloak that
protects her from the scowling faces that
await beyond the fortress door.
"Five more minutes." she whispered
to herself in an effort to remain within silence.
Entangled in her rainbow she threw her head
back upon her misshapen pillow chasing
the dream she will never be able to finish.
The pleasant ones that whisk her away
from telescopic sweater people
and scowling faces.
She rather dream of dancing dust.

I say sorry to the people
I have questioned for their sanity
When they have broken their phones
Over a lost relationship

I say sorry for taking you for weak
For exploding because of a breakup

Now I lay in my bed, only with my books
Because my chair is broken
My laptop is screenless
Our photos burnt
And my phone in pieces

Same as my heart

Accept the first option displayed by the godless black screenless moniter,
honest laughter contains the graveless monster ageless in our hearts whether programmed to or not,
The glowing door appears in low self-esteemed corridors guarded and ignored from the lawless oasis of subconscious statements, eating the fated to grow families graced under skeleton arches of martyrs disregarded, stand united with hand clasps tightened under flags of saturns dying breath in cycles, designs set in circular sequwence depicting the reforms sought after every disaster after the codex of shattered beliefs was writ to be promoted by the gullible innocents lovably prone to systems set in comforting tones, one day we'll wash away wills of peace weakened citizens willingly stagnant but that's a given object of fascination to be replaced like the shackles of fate yet claim them as absent, happily trading their lackluster talents as hostage informants abhorred with the bargain struck between state and the poor