a conversation
what sharp edge has honed me into
a spiky mess alone and lonely,
i know.
those thoughts circling, buzzards or some other
opportunistic predator,
familiar (like a witch's),
ever present.
there is perhaps some other version
with clear skies.
some place parallel maybe without the squawking claws,
with quiet thoughts or something resembling peace.
self unobsessed with self destruct, brain able to maintain equilibrium.
i would like to meet you (me) (you) (because could you be me without the claws).
i would like to taste what you became with the same life but different brain.
what choices we could make. what shapes the clouds could take.
what will you say then when we meet,
would you even know what to say
without the endless litany prayer to god knows what for silence.
you in your quiet.
to meet me, free.