Street Spirit

A current of bikers flies past our windows, hands up don't shoot and they stop traffic with their numbers. The summer sun is hot, now, every move is carefully weighed, I had the apartment to myself for an unexpected minute and spent the time staring into nothingness while the dog paced around me nervously. All these pills to no avail, all this sedation and still you wake up with yourself. Perhaps we are only ever trying to fill our beds in order to forget that.

I closed my eyes today, deep breaths and a soothing voice in my ears to try to understand the maelstrom, but all that came out were tidal waves of tears, incessant, steady, a rolling rhythm down my neck that stopped my breath and shrank my little shoulders, how the mountain of my body disintegrates in silence, how I am reduced to rubble. I image there's a reason for rivers, but I've followed so many to try finding a way home when maybe I should have given up long ago. Maybe I cannot fill my cup by carrying yours through no fault of your bleeding wounds but because my cup was too broken to begin with, the river runs straight out and through. People are dying at the hands of their oppressors and here you are being your own assailant.

Another day comes and goes. It didn't kill you
(but are you sure you were alive?).