I wear nostalgia like my nursery blanket, reminiscing of nothing I've ever known. The pangs lonely in my stomach, butterflies having migrated to the south or east, gossamer wings merely a breath released from a teardrop. Content washes over skin, like the salt-kissed waves of the ocean I long to hide. The striped jumper, like a tiger- lips, serpentine coils over which I find myself stumbling. Today is a green tea day & I save my cup for tomorrow, no lone dregs nor broken crystals of sugar.
I hope you know I cannot see straight, double-vision, double-dose. A world of women written out to look like aliens in their pocketed dresses, they whisper secrets & winds of the man who passed out on the train tracks. You are my Monday, silver spoon, & the scabs on my elbow, straight as the horizon & oh my, aren't you beautiful? My face slips a notch slower, you're speaking of eliot & nietzsche - where is our spirit in our wasteland, our God is dead but God, the world is a teardrop with your wilted pistils & faded tea leaves. Apologetic as the yellow throat of the nighttime bullfrog, swooning over the black morasses & crying to the knees of crickets. 
I will never regret running into the freeway. If I am gasping for air, pressing my palms against my chest, holding myself together, you will never find me wishing I hadn't done it. If I am sticking my fingers in my sides to staunch the bleeding, limping down gravel roads, barefoot & wild-eyed, you will only see me grimace & smile. Tell you it was a hell of a ride. Tell you when that car collided with my kneecaps, I tasted heaven in the wind yanked from my lungs. & you won't ever find me lamenting jumping into the fire. Hold my heart & call it brave, call it reckless, call it precious.