am i running out of time?
is it running out of me?
i hear this ugly crack,
it’s my dreams breaking up
bone by bone,
day by day
can’t i do anything?
can’t i just push?
doors slammed shut
won’t open
kitchen scissors cutting the wings
i never really had
i was made to hide,
i was made to be silent
the nightfall’s touching my face,
trying to be gentle but
i need no gentleness.
i need no comfort
can’t i just grab my covert dream tight by the throat?
and take it down the fucking notch?
so it won’t try to reach out,
so it won’t let new branches grow
when i’m lying on the stomach,
eyes squinted, staying afloat,
trying to keep a flooding in
the familiar warmth
underneath the tips of my fingers,
the place where fantasies are being born, never truly grows cold