Falling Through

When we wake up, we choose the side of the bed to get out on. We go about our days uninterrupted, for our cells are still dividing. It’s a headache to work, more of a headache to have no daily routine. When we go to bed, we choose the moment the light goes out. But in reality we don’t get to choose that moment. Destiny is decided for us, and our thoughts are just distracting us from it. Our lives shift as the universe expands.

Poetry is like bleeding, and the only bandaid is recognition. Someone who had once been addicted told me, you can have someone bring you out of the darkness, but that does not mean they will be your light. I didn’t cry. I only understood.

In the moment we enter the rabbit hole, it is too late. We have already surrendered. For me, this used to be facilities where women cried and avoided eye contact. Now it is the blank screen, the only place I can scream without paying medical bills that will lead me to bankruptcy.

All this is to say, perhaps I possess too little self awareness to understand that I will never leave the rabbit hole. Or perhaps I am too complacent. I got out of the bed on the right side this morning. Nothing wraps up perfectly, and I am already gone, hopefully a speck of light in someone else’s darkness.