the centre cannot hold.

i lie awake in fear
of the flood that
thrashes against the dam,
the constant rhythm
of an imagination of
an inevitable loss–
to regain, lies in the
palms of my hands.

i do not trust myself
(i will drown)
enough to be sure i’ll make it–
is my love not pure enough
to work for it…
to shake the cobwebs in my bones
to resurrect the retinas sewn
you cannot wake one who is
already awake, under pretense of sleep.
you cannot wake me from my
scripted bad dreams.

i waken to red and blue lights
blinking through frosted glass
at three hours past midnight,
waiting, preparing for the
Emergency Warning.

i wake, though time is slow
frozen, i look up, the only
way i know–
met with a breaking ceiling
whose arms outstretched
with the generous gift of
what if. what if. what if.

(i wasn’t expecting you.
you’ve arrived too early.)

i have no choice but to
my flood of fears
turning the corner,
crashing, slow and

my eyes shut tight
waiting for the impact
ten years (or minutes)
too early.
one day, it will hit me.

i lie awake in fear
wondering if i will hold
the strength in my bones
of all those who lived before.

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