the greatest day of a vacillator

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So they say it’s true—

I’ve got my name stitched on the back of a tag that reads lost boy,

and I wear it like a second skin,

cheek bruised and red.

The world spins like an old vinyl,

and I wonder if Heaven is the track I keep

skipping.

I guess I slept through fifteen years,

the dreamcatcher hanging in plain sight,

while I followed the paved road,

only to find it crumbled beneath my feet.

I came clean, but dirt clings like guilt,

unsaid words heavy on his unconditional

love.

I’d kill to be alive today, truly alive,

to see the city lights sparkle like stars on the

horizon.

I stand at the edge, curled with a white rose,

hand stretched to the blue,

waiting for the world to unveil its deepest

secrets.

I carry my burdens wrapped tight,

a noose hanging low,

lifting as I fall—

is this dancing or drowning?

I watch the stars dim,

wondering if I’m meant for Heaven,

or if I’ll find peace down there.

Where laughter doesn’t sting,

where I can dance in the alleys,

kiss the night with lips cracked from longing

to be seen.

A stranger’s desires hold nothing for me

but the human need to add salt to the

wound.

Still, I hope to be addicted to that kind of life.

I really do.

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