The hummingbird of panic

There’s a hummingbird in your chest,
in that aching cage of bone.
You hold it there too tightly
to hush its maddened drone.

And when you wake each morning,
again, you trap it still.
It’s harder, harder every day
to clench the growing thrill

of panic, at seeing the world
all clean-pressed and aglow.
You tremble as you wonder
if someone might just know

what dreams you had last night
as you starved for blessed rest
that never came, as hummingbird screams
tore through your prison chest.

If only you could crush its wings
to feathers and debris.
Or better yet, have mercy
and set the mad thing free.

But our poor, dear hummingbird,
must stay forever in its cage.
So you wash the nightmares from your skin
and claw your way onstage.

please.

i read the books
you gave me.
i’m so desperate
to keep you here
beside my bed.
i listen to all the songs
you sung to me.
i torture meaning
from every word.
i find no meaning
in this distance.
this senseless, senseless
space.
please please please
come back.
i tried eating again,
but a spoonful of sugar
can’t mask this bitter
senseless distance.
find me, please
before I find myself
whimpering, pathetic.
and throw it from the cliff.
like rags. like nothing.
like senseless senseless
distance.