"From The Outside"
To live from the outside
is to drive headlong
into every orange-dusted sunset;
a twisting highway with no
destination in sight
watching towns pass by
and I never know
anything about any place.
I just keep on running.
Is it a waste of time
to drive until you’re crazy?
To speed down a dark back road
without headlights
waiting to crash
but the deadly impact never hits,
so you sit on the roadside
watching headlights
fade on the highway
like a world of normalcy
of which I can never be a part.
It’s to live where wreckage
and heartbreak dwell
for years on end
until the house is in flames.
I stood on the street
before the ruinous skeleton
soot-soaked, smoke-stained,
and never felt more
disconnected
I never felt more
engulfed in agony.
To live from the outside
is to be immobilized within
a period of healing that feels like
looking out from a glass house
shimmering against pastel mornings
after the longest nights end,
after the madness and pain
and longing for death
dissipates with time.
You stand out by that highway
knowing sometimes recovery
isn’t about running away
but about tearing yourself open
to spill like the friscalating horizon
that still awaits you.
Image by Robin Lieck from Pixabay
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