Once There Was a Way

This bag of bricks in my gut doesn't drag easily through the days, this lead in my bones disputes every light day I thought I had in my past, surely it's best to stay away from the drink in my hand because there is no way my body won't sink in just the slightest drop. You hear their kind voices at the other side of the veil but the fabric is thick and the sounds muted, your ears are balled in cotton, do you remember how poetic you once found mental illness because all your heroes wanted to die but first they had to write. You spent a life building a wall against that oven and now here you are, watching it crumble when you lean a little too hard.

The view from the new apartment was breathtaking, 365 degrees of New York stories and a hundred futures in the making. An orange glow flooded the old bank, the elevated subway trains, new glass buildings and rickety old Brooklyn stacks. The subway train ran on its elevated tracks across the bridge to Manhattan. There's more than one answer to these questions, a voice says over the line, but I think I am too many questions, I think I am too hungry to ever be sated and I think I devoured treats that were not offered to me to begin with.

I think I am breaking at the seams, and I'm asking for thread
from the butcher.