These difficult feelings are just for show

and when the word go flows
out of your mouth like wine
pours from a broken promise,
you'll forget how it feels
to be at fault.

You have built a hammock
between the crosshairs. Refusals
dressed up as invitations keep
landing in your lap. The skyline
flirts with the void, a love story
you know well.

You cherry-pick your pleasures
and burnish the platter with your
tongue. And you are not the only
song to come up dripping from
the slew of those behind you—
that is well tested—

the worst of us shies away
and the best of us gets bested.
When the word go tickles
like a feather on your lips,
at least your compass is
unconditional.

The illusion that you are alone
softly squeezes your shoulders.
Your hands have gone colic,
they cry and cry and who knows why,
you have wrung them all you can.
Listen,

it is not a mandate to pull yourself
from the murky depth, you are allowed
to float, thrash, sink, burn or soar.
But no matter how you move on,
you will never go anywhere without three words:
I was wrong.