questa vita

what it feels like is that everything is normal  and cookie cutter  and white washed pavement black as tar just how it should be and everything was just how it was the day before then an 18 wheeler plows into you flips your car over out of nowhere and you're left stunned wondering how you got here upside down windshield shattered buckled in and suffocating the exhale is a struggle racked with all the things you can't fix ragged with all the hurt you want to absorb from other people  and all of your own wounds you want to cut out from yourself. you're told to choke it down but nobody understands what it feels like

promise me put your hand on my face, this phantom feeling. just a whisper, dancing on my skin. tingling. skipping rocks in the ocean, ripples and trickles. that's what this is... an almost memory of something to come. that's what this is. a promise. the muscle memory that feels your hand on my face. that's what it is. it's a promise.