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The mind is a fickle master

Who tires as much from reality

As it does from thoughts

Light as air

Heavy as lead

It bears a load too great

Too willingly

Too shy , too desperate to share

Often, I offer her rest

In the dregs of a glass

"Go to your happy place", I tell her

"Forget those faces

And the smell of air hanging heavy 

With forgotten songs

Forget the taste of words you no longer speak

And the sting that waxes and wanes."

"Instead, dive deep into the dark abyss

And hold your breath.

With unblinking eyes, find the new life

And claim it 

Before you catch up with yourself."

At the far end of things

I will let her unravel

And find herself.