7 of 8

I sit at my desk
staring into oblivion
of my silhouette on
the window.
the list on the table
keeps getting
and longer
as days pass
then weeks
then months.
time’s up.
my eyes blink
thinking hard for a reason
to be alive
the dead-tired breaths
live on.
I think of the men
I’ve known
read about
who’ve been there
with no way out —
beaten up to their soul
fading away with
every breathe
striving while living
striving while walking
on their 23rd street in the
21st avenue in
the most ferocious of blizzards
while everyone else
stayed in &
as they all got stuck
and fell seven times.
but sooner or later
they stood up eight
& walked
further than
anyone ever has.
everyone remembers the eighth.
some suicides are just never

Warm Foothills

I picked up the blanket,
and buried myself
under the sheets
The sky turned black treacle,
warm enough
to close my eyes.

I opened my eyes as a
Tiger on the grass
next to a river
with tangerine trees
and marshmallow skies,
I looked around to find
the mother tiger
with my kaleidoscope eyes.

she called me in
the boat on the river,
I shut my eyes and took
the leap of faith.
In the air, I looked at her
eyes, and realized
Everything around me was made of
and trust,
and pixie dust.

at that moment,
I believed in fairies,
the myths, and dragons.
It was all real
as the here and now.

My head calmly rested
in her lap,
she took her arm and
laid it on my head.
I existed on the inside,
and became too lost on the outside
to be.

I opened my eyes and looked around.

Everything seemed a little bit
more beautiful,
except my inside.

The arm over my head was