Painted into the darkened clouds,
past the rim of eyesight locked on looming waves,
have you come to pull me out?
Shades are drawn over the cot.
I’ve been induced to statis again
under a marching fog’s watchful guard,
wrapped around my knees to bear down my feet.
A runaway set of tracks runs straight onto my head,
leading flying train carts to the top of the bed,
the force of a million hammers dropped carelessly onto,
and the aching never departs,
nor the thought that births its strength.
On a better day in a mirror’s rays,
it’s said I’m a carcass in a dancer’s gown,
confident in clothing that hides my darker colors
and the cracks I’ve inflicted.
Stuck out as a limb on a precipice,
jutting from the face of a pitfall,
you’ve got a shoulder I’m dropping my heavy weight on.
I don’t deserve this cushion or this ladder up.
I want to shout a question out to you,
but you’ve put forth an answer with a smile and a shrug,
lifting jetsam up the cliff as if it was air,
and on the trip to the surface I feel a rush.
A moment to spend beside your warmth
has me barreling towards a future,
holding in my heart the confidence to stand up straight.
Any slip towards the drop no longer has me panicking
knowing I’ve always you to know as my friend.
( ❤ Mitch)