Weightlessness

Full with liquid, dripping
from somewhere within the flesh,
heart, or soul and brain,
weighing more than men could ever lift
yet straining with all my might
to climb the mountains you’d set.

Three feet up, sobbing
because I can’t reach the command
as the handholds keep on breaking
and I stand tip-toe, hard breathing
swearing I’ll climb this damn cliff

but it keeps getting heavier, and aching
in the glut of all I am
every hand hold wet with failure
from this pale, sweating skin
as I reach a few more feet, grasp, and try to pull
only to feel
my bones popping in their sockets
as groans escape my lips

Dripping, full of slime
that weighs more than earth itself
keeping me locked to the dirt
staring up, hopeless,
longing to cross the ridge.

Till you come by, smiling softly
with a dangerous fire in your eyes
saying, “let me drain you,
bleed you, then you’ll fly.”
With your hand on my shoulder,
and your other on your knife
as I see, shake, and cower
knowing this will hurt.

Then your gaze meets mine for a moment
and I barely see the blade
but – oh! – I feel the wound
as my side begins to bleed.

but even with pain, glorious the draining
and the lessening of the weight
while you stand there,
strange in silence, only waiting
for weightlessness to take
as you carry me upward,
onward, and further inward
to the greatest of your heights.