I want to spread my arms apart,
reach in impossible directions
until I snap,
finally insane and free to fly
on broken wings,
burned and bloody but mine,
beating softly like heart in head:
dull rhythm cutting through my bloodstream—
I'm made of electricity and mistakes tonight.

Now I'm clinging to the
white part of dreams
where everything happens and
impossibilities are impossible
because anything is plausible,
even more than probable
as I slip into this state of almost sleep.

Slow drips of poison slip from lips
onto my knees, burn into the sidewalk scrapes
making holes where wholeness used to be,
etching pattern in my skin
and spelling out the evils of what might not be
so threatening after all.

Take me in, please?