Frictionless: A Poem

These days, the blue of the sky
is a lover’s hand on my thigh,
the sun, a blazing torch in my hand
as I sprint into the next moment.
These days,
hallelujahs settle like dew on my tongue
even before I wake up.
There is a bass rhythm in my footsteps.
I tug on my smile from the bedside table,
tap my feet to the melody of my heartbeats
and dance to the music of the birds
in my chest chirping merrily.

I swear some god has sneaked
in while I slept and greased
the engine of my spirit.

I’m terrified.

I fear I’d wake up and find my feet stuck in the mud again, the birds gone, the sky back to its murky colour, I’m terrified I shall turn my back and at once, the gloom will converge upon me, like a lover back from a long trip, I swear these days, I can’t breathe for fear my breath will be taken away, I have these dreams—

I have these dreams
where I have to thump my throat on the back,
force it to suck in some air.
In them,
I go back to spending hours
watching the beams of sunlight
break across
the glass of the kitchen table,
bouncing around this
bubble I’m stuck in.
I trace the veins on my wrists again,
reaching for answers, asking
to see through the brick wall.
I curse you, god,
for this phobia of friction. Lord,

I’m sick to my stomach of the wondering,
the constant look to the back of my shoulder,
the fear of what lurks beyond the light,
the when? when? when?

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