They told me wings were waiting,
that light would mend the marrow.
So I shattered on earth’s cruel edge.
But no choir sings for cowards,
only the hollow hum of memory
plays its broken music here.
I stand at the edge of heaven’s curb,
toes curled on the whitestone lip,
gazing down through cotton clouds
at rust-red rooftops and traffic blurs,
at my old life ticking on,
indifferent to the absence I became.
I see my mother folding ghosts
of laundry she’ll never finish.
I see my lover blinking once. Twice.
Then kissing someone whose laugh
doesn’t rattle like mine did.
Ah, even grief forgets how to hold me.
They say you only die once,
but I’ve got eternity to spend,
and falling feels a lot like flying
for a bit.
So maybe I’ll jump again.
Back into life.
Thread myself back through the wound,
Crawl, screaming, into breath,
just to die right.
Or maybe I’ll land in me,
spine shivering under fluorescent lights,
a second shot at sorrow
and this time
I’ll leave a longer note.