I walk slowly up 15 flights of stairs never looking back never holding on to the rail never breathing.

I write you the Dear John letter and put it on top of your wallet quietly and carefully.

I never realized how much my nose looks like a beak when the shadows hit it just right.

I get to the roof and push hard on the emergency exit door. I’m not supposed to be out here, the alarm blares.

This reminds me of the third time we broke up and the fifth time and the seventh.

You call my clucking, hen pecking  because I only ever say the same damn thing.

I run to the edge of the building city dust pushing me to the ledge.

You’ve etched in my brain that no one else will ever love me and if this is all there is I’m ready to leave earth.

My wings are bigger than hummingbirds’ wings why can’t I ever get far off the ground?

I stare down past my feet to the ants on bus stops ants on motorbikes ants begging for change.

Because the man on my arm and the man in my head can never be the same man somehow I’m broken.

I dart around in circles for hours for days for years like I have lost my head.

I contemplate jumping until I nearly fall and fear grips my arm shaking me and shows my true colors.

Perhaps you are right and I am not trying hard enough to see the speck of good in you because of the fact I am blind.

This is my one and only opportunity to fucking finally cross the road.

I glimpse the sudden end, heart in my throat pounding tribal beats double time; I’d rather be miserable and live.

I walk slowly down 15 flights of stairs to our apartment, my little slice of jail, fall into your arms and plan my next escape.

Trapped in this barnyard, I’m what’s for dinner.