I lie here
dreading the morning,
wishing time could stop, willing it to stop,
yet coaching it
skip one more day
open my eyes in next year.
There are voices
in the next room over,
or maybe it's just a fly
buzzing above my head.
There is a certain level of schizophrenia
in a restless mind.
I slide past all this in silent shadows,
on carpeted tip-toe to the door.
The coolness wells up from my uncovered foot.
Noise bursts from behind me.
I take a step.
The wood beneath my toes urges me on.
One more step.
One bounding leap
And as my feet lift up from the stair,
I rise up,
into the air,
heading to where I've been going all along.