Threatened

This world is white and cold and heavy.
A battlefield of semipermeable identities
torn asunder by I don’t feel anything I feel too much.
Maybe this world is melting
drip drip dripping down the age lines of my palms
tying my feet with their tears
and I’m not sure which turn of this rotation I will land on.

My legs are bending where they’re not supposed to
sliding sliding sliding off the side of this undirected journey.
I am faltering deviations on black-top roads,
weathered and withered inside panoramic itineraries
promising only junctions leading down.
I’ve caught this world orbiting itself
too many times to be coincidence,
know all about its self-justifying condemnation,
you’ve set the sky in my hands
but denied me the means to explore it.

There are floor boards in my feet
creaking and cracking as I step,
pursuing wings melted down by the noonday sun.
I care little for the dynamite waiting for this
trust I have in freedom.
This world knows that I am coming
and still ignores me.
I am not a threat.
I am only dangerous to myself