All I need is to be alive

When I brush my check against smooth shoulders

warm as they rise off bedsheets

to kiss and hug the dust

showering the air.

When feet slip around on kitchen tile,

stepping over the other as I spin-

spin in circles

before bumping in to the fridge

and the sunlight kisses on shoulders stacked high as mountaintops

smile

and push up to color cheeks in the color of being alive.

Walking with a steady pace to the bus with my hood off while it rains.

When my fingers tangle in my hair

and a garden of flowers seem to erupt from curls

whispering calm reassurances as they bloom.

I don't want to lose that feeling of being alive.

The gentle grip that clings to my ribcage

and squeezes the breath out

as I laugh-

all I need is the feeling of being alive.

The feeling of knowing exactly who I am

as I am more exposed,

more than my body for a minute

and expanding out of it.

But sometimes,

cement fills my chest,

weeds discolor my hair,

and lungs set off

unspoken fears like bombs

My whole body in a slow collapse

like a vacant building;

morbid wallpapers and espestice ceilings to match.

Sometimes, 

weeds leeching on to me

let me know I have no choice,

but to lose it,

and it'd be better not to get my hopes up.