Drink the worries.
Swallow the pain.
Eat the control.
Wait for eternity.
Fall…
Deep…
Into the darkness.
Race the plane in the night sky.
Land into her bosom.
Become peace.
Fade into the blackness of death.
Resurrection will come.
Maybe it will bring joy;
Maybe it will bring destruction.
Either way, it is for tomorrow.
Tonight, I rest in her bosom.
Smell the fragrance of her skin
Grasp the tenderness of her heart
Flee from the memory of before.
Here… I am free.
There is no hum vibrating against my arm.
No numbers masquerading as Paul Revere
Screaming, “The Silent Killer is coming!”
Here, I run with no exhaustion
Fly with no wings
Dance with no sweat
Breathe with no fear.
Here… I am whole.
People don’t look at me and say, “You’re too fat.”
“You’re so naive.”
“You’re so poor.”
“You’re judgmental.”
“You’re a hypocrite.”
“You’re being unrealistic.”
Screw realism.
Screw realty.
What has it ever done for me?
In her arms, I do not go hungry.
The table isn’t set for one
I don’t keep myself warm at night
I am not a passing breeze.
I can lift like the days of old
Leap like the common athlete
Accomplish the feats of heroes.
Desert dunes teleport to spring waterfalls
Oceans open doors to coliseums
The deadness of space is explored
Foreign creatures become friends.
What is reality but heartbreak?
The same species destroying everything
Ruining each other.
The wounded hurting the also wounded.
Leave me smothered in her breasts.
Don’t pull me from her riches to my poverty.
Don’t open my eyes to aching and popping.
Don’t return me to mortality
Where the heart beats a little softer each passing year,
Humbled by disappointment.
I’d rather see Jesus.
Cloaked in white with hands blazing as the sun.
Old and grey with star globes on His bookshelf.
A shining light in the depth of space.
Show me Him.
Don’t show me the prayers left unanswered
The dreams tucked away for the future
While perseverance remains present.
Depression is a daily track meet…
Will I win, or will I lose His breath again…?
No, let me stay with her.
She smells like a field of flowers
Feels like a bed of latex
Warms as the heater beneath the blanket.
She is always good to me.
She always lets me dream.
I could talk with her amongst my friends.
Go into her in the privacy of our home.
Shower her with love and affection.
Watch her give birth to my children.
She… remembered me for the good man that I am.
She… made me feel unstoppable.
She… knew how to notice me.
She always silenced the overthinking
And just let me rest.
No secret plot to bring me down to her level.
No desire to project her exes’ actions into her view of me.
No hesitation or unspoken language.
She loves me and does not hide it from me.
She is like the Bible,
Constantly speaking to me.
Isaiah forty doesn’t feel so far away
Matthew eleven feels like truth
Revelation twenty-one feels obtainable.
Should I depart the Word becoming flesh again?
Return to accusations of playing the field?
Welcome back the possibilities of falling for a ghost?
Reconcile with those who call me a fake friend?
Forgive the sinner jealous of the saint?
Should I return to the world
Which influenced a curse word from my thought?
Forget them, too.
Reality will never be what I want it to be.
No wife and kids for me.
No living forever happily.
Just shortcomings and misery.
Slowly dying with a suicidal species
Unsatisfied until they drag you deep beneath their drowning.
Forget them, too…
Do you think he passed peacefully?
The addict addicted to dreams.
The world was sad at his passing,
But do you think he regretted his “I do” to the dream?
Was being king worse than marrying the dream?
Did she say, “Well done, my good and faithful husband?”
Revealing his name in her hand for eternity?
One should not spend so much time thinking
About such awfully dreadful things.
Yet, I miss my queen…