poem

I could dream about breathing, inhaling one-two easy and flushing my life out of my lungs as I stared at the night sky and sung so nobody could hear me. I could exhale the smoke and steam trapped in the lights to the pulse of the heatbeat, beat, I breathed what I craved and felt the music take up space while the bass lines and drop screamed life into me, pushing away my mind and carrying the night into the day while I tiptoed on that fine line between being lost and staying awake. I stumbled in seconds that never ended while the track ticked on through the speakers and my headphones and I kicked my way over off-key notes and kissed hope in the light of the moon and the clock radio on my bedside table. It’s never left me - that swing up-down treble tinner ringing in my ears while the brightness of the city was smothered by clouds but the sound reached beyond earth’s thin fabric of an atmosphere. It was loud in the sky and fire in our eyes of the crowd when the lights went down and the quiet was deafening and my brain was shot dead and my eyes were heavy, but that noise in my head was never ending.