on dangling feet and the will to jump

i

seven steps
to home
or hell

each foot is broken
and swinging loose from my ankles
cracking further
like leaves
or stones

my feet are softer, though
calloused
but not yet calcified

they still hurt
when I step on the sides
and shift in great gasps. 

they still walk
or swing
against concrete
too caught in a current
to let go

ii

I sit in the hood of a car
and it rusts under my skin.

each month
I grow more and more copper
and parts of me flake and curl and dry
even when it is raining

and the insides of me mold
and warp and soon
plants creep in and seed underneath my pores
like that nightmare
that sticks with me
for months
and months

I don’t want to be empty.

sometimes
I think it hurts less to be filled with something else

whether that’s hate
or
bitterness

or an overwhelming, 
broken, lost lust love sadness

and sometimes

I can only find that in the
dark, moldy part of the woods

or under my blankets
that still don’t smell like me

or on bridges
when it’s dark
and cars pass by without noticing
and the river is dark 
and fast
and cold, and warmer
than anything else, it seems

Reviews

[Hallowed Ground]

I really love this piece their is an undertone of melancholy that really drags me in. I can just imagine the scene as I am reading it!