Because falling illicits certainty

Sometimes I liken myself to an injured bird. My sights are set so high, with no boundaries or hesitations but my wings are broken. Instead of gliding to earth and waiting for the bones to mend I careen downward in a moment of terror.

It’s so sudden, like the rip you don’t expect to sweep you out to sea on the calmest of beaches. You blink and you’re already one hundred metres out and you sure as shit can’t swim against it. So out and out you go until the coast is a spec in the distance and you’re struggling to tread the water much longer. The swell is picking up and soon you are being thrown about by the oceans strong arms, the air is crushed from your lungs and all your bones are splintered.

I’m falling through the clouds, gravity is pulling me faster and faster, I’m twisting and though I am a dancer there is no grace here.
Until I land and my neck breaks. I leave a crater in the soil and my fingers twitch.

So, here I lay.
In all my pity and ugliness.
In all my quiet and volatility.

Here I lay.

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