Diving

I borrow a breath and dive

off a rock, old as time

into lives I might have led

 

I taste the salt of goodbyes

of faded postmarks

of the fact that you don’t care to notice now

the specks of dirt on your crockery

 

I close my eyes

feel the brush of carnival streamers

against my upturned face

muffled drums beat through me

 

the screech of tyres

the sudden stop

I am airborne, forever

then

I feel the grit, clawing, frenzied

into my chest


I am a ghost, resting on the ceiling

I watch myself below

withered and wheezing

sagging under a thin white blanket


I am burning from the inside out

and return, gasping

like I always do

 

©2018 BY STEVE DENEHAN. PROUDLY CREATED WITH WIX.COM

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