maybe

2/16/21

i fell over on the terrace

and couldn’t tell if i’d slipped

or if i’d passed out

and the thought scared me,

the same way it did when emptiness found its way into my bones after seeing black at the doctor’s office

they just needed some blood

to figure out why i’d been experiencing stomach pain for months

so constant, the aches became dull over time

i figured, “this is maybe just how it feels to be alive now”

which brings me back to sunday night

it was valentine’s day

and i smoked myself into the other plane again for the first time in years

i was underwater, imagining - well, i’m not sure now

“i just need to wake up,” i told myself

after specifically doing everything in my power to slide back into the warmth of a dangerously tall high

i felt scared on the terrace, what if i fell over?

i knew it wasn’t possible, so i leaned into the railing 

i swear i closed my eyes for just a second

and then woke up to what felt like an infinite tumble

i was suddenly a toddler at laramee green, stumbling down the stairs with my dog

for an eternity 

and my eyes opened to wet snow, my body on its side

i couldn’t remember if i’d hit my head

and the high was blurring the reality of my bodily sensations

i’d gotten what i’d wanted

a brief touch base with the faceless solitude before the collapse

i can count on one hand the times that i’ve been there

standing on the neon light, that separates the waking hours from the endless night

the first time, watching stars burn like LEDs

the second time, seeing faces where they shouldn’t be

the third time, seeing my insides pixelate

inhaling air like wool, suffocated but warm

i miss it every time, until i’m back in its depths

this is maybe just how it feels to be alive now