Sadness is Not Cold — Brandon Schwartz

I am in the ebb of ebb and flow
                             I live in the ictus between
I am in the flow of ebb and flow

I hold a skyscraper
covered top to bottom in ivy
still.

Nuance creeps its vines along the edges
sucking in every corner
and overtaking what I have known my whole life.

Instinct, whose palms are scarred and calloused, scale the face barehanded.
Who knows what thorns await if I rest.

Sadness is the topheavy sailboat fighting hurricanes while transporting the answers to my
physics test to the other side of my brain.
The cargo labeled vulnerability is pulled from its foundation and flung into the depths.

Intuition is the hardened bedrock at the bottom of the sea
millions upons millions of gallons of water weigh down while the push of molten metal in the
core of the earth exerts an opposite force.

I am the unsettled dust of the world
I am dismantled

reassembled

and equally distributed in a medium

I am but a medium
the same as air only packed tighter
and colder
and more fluid
and stressed