Down Pillow

Do you remember how it hurts to move

when the cast first comes off? 

Never mind.

It was me who broke my wrist,

not you.

 

Fly back up to where I belong?

I realize 

it’s too late to relearn

those old songs we sang as kids.

So just remind me please.

You forget I was busy doing nothing

all

those years.

 

So, this is what it takes to find certainty:

failures’ fatal toll refracting against

this puddle of sunken hope. 

That inescapable fact that my broken actions are 

shivering next to me,

with no chance of repair.

 

We’re just kickin’ back,

me and my lost expectations.

After all, they fell down here with me, 

even if I never should have thought 

them up in the first place.

 

I'm not sure if it should be this relaxing

sleeping on the corpse of rotting dreams. 

Or is that just me trying to stay numb 

for as long as I can, avoiding the 

miserable glare of my disappointed efforts?

 

It always seems so long,

that moment when you can

linger with your shock,

before consequence

crushes you with truth.

 

I try to stop it, but my hand 

reaches over to the first feather,

and it's already sewing it back on.

Isn't flying too close to the sun once

enough for a lifetime?

 

My eyes start to close and it all starts again.

There’s nothing much in the sky anyway,

at least not from this view.

 

And I’ve never felt more comfortable.