Becoming Ashlee

where have you retreated to
deep under ground
the cold that hit so fast it stabbed your chest
sent you into a deep spiral,
hibernation,
pricked with a needle and
not a flinch
the heart is beating, yes,
but just a few times a minute
the electric waves, the lightning flashing
across coiled brain, almost diminished
to relive the reception of pain
barely drawing a breath
conserving to preserve the feeble strength and memory
all the figs remain
though closed eyes to the world cannot see
the things that hurt
nor the things that set free
the figs won’t remain forever
soon, one by one, they’ll begin to fall
will you sleep on
or arouse and — deep breath — dilate
taking in the things that hang
precariously above your head
I see them and
I cannot pick for you
the choice is yours alone
the truth is, despite what others may tell,
(and i could never be as they are)
as you numb-sleep lavishly your soul,
ignoring who you really are,
you’re on the edge of squandering
your life

-me