Words can never capture the way my body feels on an empty day.
In space, there is freedom,
freedom to be something unexpected.
In the purgatory lies potential,
potential for choice.
The way I feel with my hand on my hip
and my back caved in
can't be put on paper.
The emotion lies in the negative space,
the feeling of skin and bone and muscle.
This is why I take hits, swallow those little pills-
to feel something that isn't humanly possible,
to set my brain in a frenzy that tells me to feel,
to really feel.
That ever-moving space just isn't there when I wake up.
My muscles don't quiver from anxious use
and the core of myself isn't quite so defined.
In the morning, my body is limp and inactive,
only to contrast the rush,
the charge of energy
I know I'll feel.