Waiting

You are stopped between one breath and the next. Four hundred fifty five seconds. Chains have braided your fingers to unjustifiable regrets, pushing against lungs that do nothing but murder. Time has never been a friend. You have strangled too many of its negotiations to feel close, to feel familiar, to feel safe in the cusp of its integrity. Stop wishing for the next movement of air when you refuse to acclimate to the hours tainting you skin. I need to wait I need to wait I need to wait, wont excuse you from daylight hours, from moon swept tears, from a galaxies singing on the wind just outside your window. Move. Do not collapse against the folds of your skin when that hard place beneath you becomes too soft. Calling it waiting is a scandal, a lie. You’ve robbed a moment of peace in I can’t go I can’t go, why can’t you see I’m stuck. But the sky has never pressed you down, swallowed you up, restrained your veins with undefinable directions. Do not cast blame on the compass for your uncertainty. Move. Stall only the time it takes for you to think about the earthquake you will trigger with the left foot you place forward. Stall only long enough to rock your shoulders back, to whistle with the nuclear winter spewing from your hands as you choose a destination. Stall only heartbeat that tells you you haven’t the life enough to do it. To move. To fly. To breathe.