The sun’s scalp spills through the dew.

Around me, earth is still asleep.

Unmoving.

You’d almost think it had died overnight.

But it breathes on.

Happiness.

Take it once daily.

Every morning, I swallow it with water.

Ignore the reality.

The pill isn’t working.

Wake up.

Wake

Up.

Why can’t I wake up?

They walk into the room

And sit down on the bed.

They talk.

They talk.

Not to me.

Not with me.

To themselves to make sure,

Make sure they’re still better then me.

The sun is moving fast,

Pushing up into life.

I’m running out of time.

They float above me,

Shining in the light.

Red.

Blue.

Yellow.

The strings twine through my fingers,

Stretching from beneath them

Their umbilical cords.

Finally in the open,

Where I always want to be.

No more of that room,

Littered with memories of illusions.

Corpses of promises,

Remnants of plans.

Forgotten.

Its damp.

Morning crispness

Tingles against my skin,

Taunting out a smile,

Peeling stinging tears from my eyes.

I take the strings in both hands,

And stare across the fields into the trees.

I always wanted to be the wild.

I always wanted to be.

Stop wasting time.

One wind around my throat,

Nothing.

Two lengths.

My pulse beats against the string.

Three lengths.

And tighten.

My feet begin to dangle,

Finally floating above the ground,

Finally, happiness,

Hanging by the strings of balloons.