There's this one edge of your existence
which your family cannot witness
where the temperature starts dropping off.
And a similar cold is moving slowly
at the border your friends don't pass over,
the blood out there'
hard as a rock.
But when you move it's like the glacier melts around you,
it makes way when you're in motion:
so you go, you won't be held.
You're on planes and busses,
in the back of rented vans.
You're introduced to someone new,
you smile and shake their hand.
But when you're still
you're so aware of all the distance that exists
between you and the closest humans to you
miles of it.
People held
together
by ice.
But when you stay it's like the blaze cooking your brain cells,
to see these same shapes every day,
all these same souls unmoved.
The thought of what they're waiting for makes interaction awful,
it's in the blaring television that is burning down the room.
But when you're still
you're so afraid of all the distance that exists
between you and the closest humans to you
miles of it.
You can tell it's the inferno by the presence of flies
and that it's hell from which she's running by the speed of her flight.