A Stumbling Ballet

And i am nothing,
nothing less than relieved.
Slide through invisibility, reaching:
a ride? More than that. A roach or the lowest note.

Faces alight with disapproval
or maybe merely morbid curiosity.
What if there is no bottom to hit?
As if optimism ever has a chance.

This joy of mine perpetually lingers,
though begrudging, I can't stop grinning.
When my feet have begun to hurt
I discover the possibility of fleeing.

Fleetingly i stumble backward,
beyond terrified that it might be too soon.
I study the sky with too much interest,
still standing, but shaking in my boots.

As in an early morning cartoon strip,
"What's missing here?" Deception?
Silence has this queer habit of being honest,
though sometimes i find it too loud to tell.

It seems either something has gone from me,
or maybe i'm just empty.
But the shadows are deeper than my void
and i am not overly concerned.

This is my dwelling.
Darkness lets my illumination
become perceptible.
And here i am as no one else.