A path, yet to be engulfed in flames
Cries out to me in distant screams
And muffled sobs (echoed, unseen)

My heart; fully hearing, fully seeing
the exquisite maybes (and vulgar what ifs)
While my mind strikes a match,
threatens to hold us both
to the fire, unforgiving,
without apology

If I say it's all a dream
I know you'll utter, gently beg,
"and so is this?"

I climb the mountains
of my inner demons
just to know
they're there.

I run until my lungs feel like
they're bleeding
just to know 
I'm alive.

And I'm clawing at
the thought of you
because I already know
that it will end.

A tiny, blissful pressing,
barely noticed
from a peripheral angle
of secrets unreleased,
and maybe only hinted at,
between strangers
with eyes trying in vain 
to remain open despite 
the blinding light 
​of a thousand trembling suns.

And in the next breath,
dissolved, forgotten.

We like to think we know ourselves,
but really,
what is there to know, other than
the fact that we are each the Universe
contained and exalted,
​looking back on itself?