How sick of me
are we?
Duplicitous,
A dichotomy
tearing my heart
in two.
I sometimes think
You can understand
it but your feet
walked sinless
on the dirt, the earth.
This ground.
You take it all in,
though,
that breath held
in your lungs
until you finished
it.
And I suppose I hope
For a single millisecond,
You could see me here,
head pressed neatly against
wood,
red marked into my forehead,
the fingers of my soul
attempting to loosen
the knot and watch
it all float
away.
Ericka Clay 
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