ninety nine percent
of the time
I’m fine but
every once in a while
it’s like my mind is on
fire and I need
a lifeline to guide
me, out of the sky
and back inside. But
my pride feeds me
lies about the eyes
of passersby and I
try not to sigh
as I shy from the type
of advice they’d supply.
“Don’t cry!”
“Just try!”
“Maybe next time!”
Not lies, just tired rhymes.
They beguile for a while
in line
with the design
of the wires
we all have to climb
just to get by
while others stockpile,
the same bile
and fake smiles
that will cause the dial of time to
stop.