Our souls dream big
but our bodies know better.

They rope us back in.
There is no room for love here,
in the real world.

I want to vomit,
to make room for the heartbreak
to flow more freely.

Quickly, like ripping
off a band-aid.

Tedious.

That bandage is using you,
don't you feel it sucking the blood?

Embedded
and
adhered to the wound,
it is stuck here, too.

I want to vomit,
to make room for the heartbreak
to flow more freely.

Like the tides
that render me helpless,
washing away my
ability and responsibility,
to stand alone.

Purging in spite of me.

I'm so tired of holding my head up.