the floors of memory are glass, which means
the medicine isn’t working, which means
i am back on the floor, which means
it is july, which means
the cherries are in bloom, which means
they are painting the shrubs red, which means
they look like fire, which means
i’m going to try to pick them, which means
i’m still attracted to danger, which means
i could want you again, which means
you are still a black hole, which means
you are where i disappear, which means
i’m going to love you, which means
i’m still trying to disappear, which means
the medicine isn’t working, which means
i’m still sick in the head, which means
i was right, which means
i was wrong, which means
i can’t trust myself, which means
i can’t trust you, which means
i can’t trust anything, which means
i need medicine, which means
hospital, which means
until october, which means
the cherries should be gone, which means
this isn’t real, which means
the medicine isn’t working, which means
the floors of memory are glass, which means
i am falling through and through, which means
no one is catching me, which means
you are not here

previously published by Vagabond City

Logan February is a happy-ish Nigerian owl who likes pizza & typewriters. He is Co-Editor-In-Chief of The Ellis Review, and a book reviewer at Platypus Press' the Wilds. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Raleigh Review, Yemassee, Wildness, Glass, Tinderbox, and more. He is the author of How to Cook a Ghost (Glass Poetry Press, 2017), Painted Blue with Saltwater (Indolent Books, 2018) & Mannequin in the Nude (PANK Books, 2019). Say hello on Instagram & Twitter @loganfebruary.