Holding On

Who am I to feel entitled to magic?
This impossible thing that serves as means to fulfillment to so many.
Who am I to expect the arrival of that piece to the puzzle?
Still, it is so unique, it won’t fit anywhere else.
Who am I to make this something I need to survive?
I’ve already received so much. I’ve already thrown away so close.
Who am I to ache over its absence?
I’ve never, in reality, experienced a feasible version of it.
And what is it to mean so much to me?
Opiate, object of my addiction.
Looking for it in every pipe, in every pill bottle.
Licking the inside of the bag so that I may claim every last drop.
Its promise is sold on every corner.
Its trinkets fill the closet.
Just one more hit, I beg of it.
Clinging to ghosts
Humming conversations older than they
Masticating pieces stuck between teeth
Sucking every last drop out
Letting go means falling
But it’s time to let go
I’ve got to get you out of me
I’ve got to get you out of me
I will never fly if I can’t fall
I can’t say these wings are strong enough to give flight
But I’m so tired of holding on

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