There is truth in fear. Crawling through darkness, blind to opposition, there is only one thing we can see, hear, feel
and that is our own presence.
My own skeleton is destroyed by many variables. There are tattoos inked across my many (prison) cells, I hold my reminders much like everyone else -
On our second day. (I say our as if it was solely mine and yours, bundled up in the arctic, scrambling for heat out of desperation,) on our second day, I was told to write down your very being,
hang on to a superficial limb and climb down your spirit. I stare into your eyes for one
l o n g minute.
hanging on every second, hinging on your humanity, scattering -
- I am seconds from falling off a cliff -
- Bright blue eyes. Bright.
I write it down as if were so simple, just oh so simple to say what I mean.
A simple adjective is never enough, but it has to do.
Ineffective. I trace words
I want to say to you like constellations against your arched cheekbones.
I am holding on, simply, ineffective,
if only barely.
There is no need for fear. There is comfort in discomfort.