These are not words
of encouragement.

Saying everything
will be okay
is giving you
an elastic
knot of words,
a band-aid for
your broken heart
dying your shirt
the color of
martyrs to

You lie there
under your
or sit there
in your coat
in your car
focusing on
not letting go,
believing you
are ready to
leave the wheel
to fate.

Nothing will
staunch this
bleeding out,
nothing will
fill this

You will not
feel better,
just yet,
or maybe

We’ve been here before.
This story is yours.

Time will
never be
your friend,
but will pass
you by

These are not words
of encouragement.

You will look
out the window
and see nothing
is worth it.

There is a driveway,
a sidewalk,
a palm tree,
a curving road,
a highway close enough
you can hear the wish
of passing cars
to keep on going
fully distracted
without interruption.

Inevitably, the train
will rumble
and moan,
a passing plane
will cut east
to the rising sun,
and the morning alarm
will sound.

These are not words
of encouragement.

Your every day
You’ve reached
the bottom of the rope
and your feet dangle
over the abyss,
a black lake
as still, as deep
as the absence
your heart endures
despite its own
tired thrashing.

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You tell me,
I never know
what I’ll do.

But the choice is obvious.

Let go

Either way
you have to
do something.

Either way
I’ll be right here

to catch you
to climb with you

from the bottom up.






Cover image from Flickr.