you see, like lip gloss over vomit-cracked lips; don't really sink in, do it?

i am i am i am walking the dogs in this cool twilight and dancing about in my tights and those flats that make me nearly weightless. nearly. and yes, i do feel connected to my body tonight, yes i do, in that it is too much and i am too much and even my shadow which is thinner than me is not is not thin enough, and if i dance enough, let enough time elapse between my feet and the ground maybe gravity will turn his heavy blind eye away and i will drift off? i will float away? and do you know that i ate the uncooked pieces of my roommate's two-day-old handmade pasta fallen between the fridge and the counter today dusting off cat hairs and dirt because i deserve that? 

but a strange magic at twilight with the house lights lit and people happy inside and wafty sounds of silverware and conversation and me with the dogs and the stars low on the rose horizon and me trying to take off, the soul jumping ship perhaps, but happy? alight with crepuscular magic and words sliding along in my head and desperation, so much of that, not enough and too much and smaller please and less and don't deserve and vacuous? oh Andy, i am not ok. for the first time i do not want to be ok. tell me something to shame me, please, because the need to shrink, to vanish like Alice, like Lucy to walk into a world-in-a-wardrobe and never come back, like Arwen to choose a mortal life, has usurped rationality. i look at my wrist and i wish it were bruised.

the litany in my head, subcurrent so long, has taken on words and volume and dimension and i cannot read for the din. i am near tears for the heart-surging happy passion of it. desire and discord. yearning and itchiness. i feel like i have shed my skin and stepped out into blossom. but i have yet to shed that skin. trapped in here.