I liked the idea
of running away.

When my organs swelled and sagged
to the floor and another one of me
had climbed inside the airtight bag
attached to my ankles, I knew
I could follow the daisy chains
that fell from your eyes, twirling around
until wrapped, hug-tight
in you.

I did not consider you surviving on your own,
I forgot to tell you how often I think about you
and of the greyscale dreams in which we walk
palm-pressed through shopping malls
with all the time in the world

and my hands turn to earthquakes
because this is all too real
and my heart is a space shuttle
breaking through ozone-layered skin.

I could sit outside your house
in four AM moonlight, folding my heart
into one thousand paper airplanes
to aim at your window
but you still would not understand
what I want you to.

‘I miss you’ just does not tell you

of the days I spent dipped in sighs
or the constant crumbling of my ribs
against the shockwave of a thought
of you --
not calling back.

Or the snapping feeling in my head
as I put aspirin to mouth
to kill the headache from all the loosened clouds
that cause havoc in my eyeballs.

I am a car door,
being slammed shut, you have the key
and I am asking you why
you lodge it in your pocket

but you cannot hear because I’m locked too far
on the inside.