I float,

Standing on solid soil—

I melt,

Floating on icebergs.

Sometimes

There is no word

That exists

To wrap around this feeling.

It is too free-form,

Grand,

Expansive,

Enlarging beyond comprehension.

 

The word is lost

Inside my trachea, hanging.

How can you find something

You will never see?

 

I never want to find it —

To trap such a beautiful monster

Is

Murder

At the highest degree—

The body still continues to be, enclosed

Behind bars,

But the soul, the spirit

Decays slowly.

Suffocated,

Deprived,

Sucked out of life.

They say starvation is an awful way to die;

You feel your body loss control—

It cannot think like it used to

I cannot hold, move, run, lift,

It weakens until

Every little movement

Is torture,

Every temperature change

Is excruciating agony.

Then,

Euphoria hits.

Signaling the end,

The body’s defeat. Flag raised.

You giggle yourself to death.

 

 

Guess I am not near my doom,

No euphoria.

Still emotions

Without words,

Incomprehensible.

Still tears without reason,

Still reason without motive,

Motive

Without

Fuel.

Calm amidst chaos,

Turmoil beneath peace,

Imperfection under the perfection.

 

Perhaps it is good

That my world

Strikes at dissenting chords,

So breathtaking,

Grotesque

And beautiful.

 

Perhaps it means

There is still much to know,

Feel,

Much to never know.

 

The cycle

Is evolving backward.

I am a newborn again,

Two years old,

Four,

Standing on a Bronx avenue,

Stray cats, stores, people,

Streets of age, history, imperfection.

A world anew.

So raw, yet so embedded in the soil of the deceased

That roamed this land.

 

I flourished

Starting from those dingy steps,

And again I bloom

From its sister stairs.

 

I breathe this world, these cultures

Mixing,

Molding,

Creating.

I smile, and say

Yes,

Thank you

For giving me

Life.