Float

How sick of me

are we?

Duplicitous,

a dichotomy

tearing my heart

in two.

I sometimes think

You can understand

it, but your feet

walked sinless

on the dirt, the earth.

This ground.

You take it all in,

though,

that breath held

in your lungs

until you finished

it.

And I suppose I hope

for a single millisecond,

You could see me here,

head pressed neatly against

wood,

red marked into my forehead,

the fingers of my soul

attempting to loosen

the knot and watch

it all float

away.