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Out into what?

They call it falling in love

Because before you know it

You've slipped up,

Your feet aren't where they were

The dirt that held you

Becomes wet grass

Becomes sharp rock

Becomes nothing.

And this nothing

Gets smaller and smaller

Until it's something.

A big something.

And the impact

Knocks you loose.

Knocks a lot loose.

You're a little broken but

You're alive and

Fighting.

And that boulder

Rolls.

Closer.

And closer.

And you're broken.

And it's closer.

And you're still broken, but fighting.

Fighting doesn't fix you.

You're broken.

And it collides.

You're trapped.

Your legs and one arm are

Under this

Massive weight. Maybe a ton.

And there are some rocks that

Might be sharp enough.

And the space where your

Knee used to be

Well, it isn't.

And there's nothing where

You'd tattooed your arm.

Briefly, you hear your thoughts--

"What a waste of ink."

But there's no pain.

No, because to feel it

Would kill you, surely.

Whether of shock

Or from giving up.

And your one free arm,

Scrabbles across the ground

And your neck is twisted weird,

And you can't see.

And you're not sure if you

Can hear, either.

And you feel mosquitoes bite

But can't slap them.

And you cut your finger on

A sharp slice of granite,

Or limestone,

Or whatever the hell

And you reach out for it.

No, it was just

A fucking scorpion.

You swat

And you feel your whole--

Well, your half body move.

But no pain.

Maybe, you think

You hope

Your brain got hit so hard

You forgot what it felt like

To wither in agony.

But you can only take hold

Of a rounded rock.

Just big enough, thank god

And you try to twist, but

Your back is jagged

So you blindly rear back.

And that moment

Where you decide between

Resting here in this painless

Shock

For eternity,

Or at least, your eternity

Numb and

Adrenalized

And missing all those

Pesky breakables--

A little more perfect than you were

Or your alternative,

Slamming that rock down

And again

Feeling the bones crumble and

Shatter and splinter and

Shoot off into this

Dirt-covered hellhole

And feeling the muscles

Tense and contract

And tearing nerves apart

Strand by strand

And thanking every god you've

Ever joked about

That you can't feel a damn thing

And you slam down again

And again

And you repeat this

For arms you kept out of

Fires and hot coffee

For ages.

And now what, you'll just

Throw them off

Into a lake

And move on?

That moment between

Accepting the end of

All things, everywhere, for all of

Your numb forever,

Or the return to

Sharp, penetrating reality

Of ketchup stains and

Hospital bills--

That moment of choice

End, beginning.

Death, life.

Torture, torment.

Heaven, earth.

That's what it's like,