—PEOPLE WITHOUT DEMONS MAKE ME A LITTLE SUSPICIOUS

The Journal of Regret, Day 2___

On the other ledge

I hang pink-translucent,

a flaccid drop of

ransomed blood,

my grip greased,

slipping on everything

I used to know. 

You did that.

Yep.

You promised

this wouldn’t happen,

wouldn’t make me

love you so hard, fervent

and targeted.

You said the world was

flat after all,

just you and me in it,

littered with butterflies

and freedom.

But look—I’m flying now,

my flimsy wings are spread

like crumpled foil

desperate for lift off.

I see the soil below,

so clear and ripe from here,

the workman ants,

good soldiers,

laboring like we should have,

tilling, searching and sweating

in the welcome dirt.

And me?

I’m a stupid boy, dropping fast,

waiting for the ground’s kiss,

for the sound of that final

and unforgiving splat.