Reality, as a membrane
is so very thin
It stretches over my probing fingers
I breach the taut whisper
And in the moment it
replaces my skin
pushing into nonexistence, across
The barrier I blindly feel
between time and place, flaws
ripple, faults splinter, I
cannot hear the walls implode
My middle ear collapses and
I pause on the lip, pigeon toed
Perched on the rift
hanging out of a wound in the sky
I can almost touch you- almost
Maybe just one step more?
-Where does this road go?
Where does this road go? Hang me from the torn clouds, string me up from the stars, rip a hole in the fabric of reality, I pushed myself face first into the unknown for you and I don’t even know where you are. Somewhere at a desk, where the window on the right has a potted plant with a drooping yellow flower, you’re leaning back in your chair, letting the noise of the room wash over you like the cold processed air spewing from the vent across the fat girl’s glittery table- it fills your ears, it’s filling your lungs, it’s filling your eyes, you choose not to care. Once upon a time, you tore the fabric of reality for me. You laughed and you shredded the meanings of what I held true into pieces into words and fantasies and utter absurdity. And then you shut the door. Your ink blue fingers flowed back together and poured themselves into crevices I hadn’t dared to expose.
Can you blame me, for tearing my mind apart, breaking windows into every wall I meet? Can you blame me for setting fire to every road behind me, looking for you, and trying to understand why I even do?
Wait. Here’s a fork. Where does this road go? .
Membranes | yusra
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