singultus (to find air between cries)

by Myles Bramble

 for those readers
of the word of the day.
 
for those obsessively trying to climb over the trench
that confines the most low self esteem,
to be dragged lower by the next coup d'etat
a ruse set by demons
damned….
to be aroused by demons….
 
leaking turned screaming at the back of the eyelids that
open,
over sharpen the light,
if one could always see that tattoo that you stained into the oblique
in that prolonged moment of prowess
you told them to place
‘pain is but a creation of the mind.’
 
in trying to find air between
sobs you will find that, this may be the best time to
fail.
 
for you
who wants to improve so bad,
aspire to fail.
whip the Clydesdale on the blinders that have your morphic cycle
shit out of luck, and foolstruck
by a rut.
 
close your mouth,
and open your ears…
listen for that whistling
can’t you hear it
coming from the breeze that was started
when that door was shut in your face and the window became an opportune
ESCAPE.
 
oh how just breathing has become an escape
for me
though every second a hilarious shot at my wee existence,
and my peers take peeks at their phones
and google
for brains
 
and I,
stand at the peak
with one foot already convicted to a leap
but what saves one more sole is the whole fucking above.
 
i wander
i wonder
i wonder
if they would take a deep breath between cries
pull their neck back for a rest
and look at the remnant of a beautiful thing.
I beg them to peak
be a beacon and witness
this love around them
before our beauty is closed minded
inside Schrödinger’s box.