#20

It’s like trying to extinguish

A fire with rum and vodka and gin

To achieve a healed self or in the very least,

Numbing-amnesia;

It’s like trying to fly with one chewed up

Wing knowing you once were host to

A convention of clouds;

It’s being trapped beneath the surface of a

Frozen lake running your hands across its

Jagged chest for a fishing hole;

It’s the admiration of a fuchsia pedal trapped on the

Wet concrete against that grey face but a voice telling

You in fact it’s navy blue because it’s you lie, the perception

untrue, you omit facts for self-preservation,

like this is who are and will always be;

It’s a word or an action like a light switch

in a dark room being thrusted into

a bad trip at light speed, cutting lights,

blinding noises, loud mouths with sharp teeth,

A rush in blood pressure, cool beads of

sweet on brow and palms,

Faint knees.

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