weight

 I work on extracting my thoughts from my brain.
Carrying false messages.  Dead weight.  Believable.
Sticky.  Messy fingers pulling at silky strings of hurt.
Struggling to sort the welcome from the un.
Writing because I force myself.  Forcing substance into the holes.
Moles holes.  Rabbit den tunnels.  Secret hiding places.  Hiding hell.


You tire easily.  Your flames fanning.  Patience waning. 
In a little while I’ll fall into you and exhale.  Soon.