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.
Charles Snyder 