left out
locked out
down below the waterline
floating in stasis
not drowning
but not breathing
embraced by the filigree
the layers of dishonesty
cocooned in the safety
of my self-victimization
not crying
but not laughing
simply here
between the sharp edges of reality
and the freedom of the dream
can i be so subtle
and still claw my way
above the surface?
and do i really want to?
(i’m so tired of purging
the clockwork of my emotional bulimia drains my soul)
04.20.23
