I feel a rise in my chest that speeds up
and slows down
like a bird trapped inside my rib cage,
wings shrinking, but not their power.
I’m afraid I’m going to throw up;
eyes blur, and for a moment I think I’m fainting,
but it’s only the hot sun
and I didn’t know I had been staring,
until my head feels like a berry on a tree,
maturing—growing heavy, weary—dying.
I push on my temples to stop the noise
of disappointment—static reception of a shitty
radio station with signals neither here
I have no boundaries so I hear the noise,
I hear the clatter,
I hear you catching your sobs in your throat
and it’s in perfect rhythm with the bird inside by chest.
I never promised eternal happiness or peace,
as the sun never promised the simple comfort of warmth;
sometimes we burn until there’s nothing left,
only hearsay of what happened that one time long ago.