Muslin - Matthew Vincent, The American Scene

It’s so cold at 3 AM.

Just to ask if your hand’s been where mine’s been and then-

Time will nod, it’s this place you’ve forgot.

You could end.

And then it’s every little thing that you could never quite say.

It’s a bed, it’s a friend, it’s an early grave.

It’s the overwhelming thoughts on leaving to come back to this again.

Again.

You.

You wouldn’t weigh me down.

You.

You never touched the ground.

It’s a fall into something far away from here.

Heart not quite close enough to commandeer.

And I. I was dying to disappear.

And then it’s every little thing that used to fill up my day,

between «I'm fading», «I'm sorry», and «I'm doing ok!»

And then everything seems lighter than it has in a couple dozen years.

Of me dying here.

You.

You wouldn’t weigh me down.

You.

You never touched the ground.

Settle into me, i’ll be patiently waiting.

For easier sleep, and your breath next to me.

I’ve been living listless for so long.

You.

You wouldn’t weigh me down.

You.

You never touched the ground.