Who’s to tell you how to handle?
when it all goes down,
down further than you ever thought,
thinking your way through it

pacing and smoking,
smoking and pacing,
sitting with yourself,
lungs turning black,
it may not be productive,
but hey—at least it’s not psychoactive

maybe the brain didn’t develop right
you breathed in too much butane as a kid

and you’re told you can’t deal with tough situations
though it seems you’ve been doing nothing but!
your whole life

compartmentalize,
your therapist tells you,
compartmentalize—
there are separate dilemmas here,
though infinitely entangled

you can’t let it break you:
your will, your love, your faith in humanity

so don’t close your open arms,
and don’t deceive,
but maybe raise your guard a little bit
with loose, honest fists
and fight through
however you have to.

of capsizing
only a couple missteps away—
maybe a few, maybe just one

i’d tell you to stay afloat
if my lungs weren’t already filled with
the same water
that’s taking you down.