The Midmorning Poetry.

I think that the free fall

is the only place I feel at home.

The air doesn't lie to me here.

Instead,

it screams past my ears with vulgar honesty

and plays thief with my lungs.

Then,

I am

hurled into the lonely,

and its waters become

towering, violent, blankets around me

and under their pall my brain begins to avalanche;

Did my spine just snap?

Will I ever walk again?

Maybe it's time I give up,

stay under this bedding,

and just breathe in.