I WAS TRYING TO EXPLAIN HOW I’VE BEEN FEELING LATELY & THEN THIS HAPPENED

It’s like when you’re standing on the train
platform, & you tip toe to the edge of it
& look over the tracks.
You see the sign that warns you of
potential electrocution from the metal but
what do you care?
What do you care because as you’re looming over the edge of that platform you’re
contemplating the fact that at any moment,
you will hear the train coming down the tunnel & you could just jump. You could just
jump the moment you see it coming, just
jump. How easy would that be?
You could just step one foot off that edge & everything would go black. Dark. End.

It’s like when the gun goes off, you know?
There’s the split second before the bullet flies
out of the barrel and turns flesh into wound;
the regret of pulling the trigger felt too late.
We all know once you lean into the air between
you & that train, there is no going back &

it’s like the pause in between the thought &
the action; that short in-between moment of life & death & the inevitability that your life
is just as fragile as the people who will watch
with wide eyes and clenched fists as your body
& that first train car collide & then
watch your flesh turn red, wound.

It’s like the moment when you realize that
just because there were those people who
broke into your body when you were least expecting anyone to cast a shadow
near your bedside table doesn’t mean
that you’re a steel trap for bad things to happen to;
it doesn’t mean you’re a magnet, doesn’t mean
you’re a target & there’s lessons being had
when you’re not ready for the arrow to hit
your fire-red center.

It’s like going outside at 6 am on a Sunday morning, you know?
When the city still sleeps & the air
is untouched and silent.

It’s like you know that your life is fragile
but you keep leaning too close to the edge
of that train platform & you can’t stop contemplating
what it would feel like to jump,

but bullet turns to wound faster than a thought can bloom & just because
your body feels like it’s rotting doesn’t mean
it’s ready to be buried yet.

It’s like the fragility of life makes you curious
about whether or not said fragility applies to you but
it does and you know it, yet you still
refuse to acknowledge the sign slapped onto your skin that says, “handle with care.”

It applies to you and you know it, yet you still
insist on trying to be invincible,
just to be sure.

— han hyland