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Up Or Down
March 12, 2010
I'm through with walking on broken glass.
Tired of eggshells littering the floor.
Sick of holding my breath,
while my lungs bruise purple.
I must break,
one way or another.
Lacerations tenderize my feet.
Lines of words march off my tongue,
composed as not to irritate you.
My face still stings,
from when you slapped me with your eyes.
I must break,
one way or another.
Black or white.
Up or down.
Fall or grow wings.
Release this breath,
or never take another.
Either way,
true or false,
wherever I fall,
you're coming with.
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