The top of the world was a pretty place
And we went there, a Thursday in October,
On your motorcycle with barely enough fuel.
We fought on the way but it was all new, even the fights. So it didn't feel like a fight, not at all.
So you took me to the top of the world and everything seemed brighter.
The landscape injected with colour.
The air, a mild truth serum, cutting into our arms.
It got harder to breathe when you put your arms around me,
The dizzying newness cutting off circulation.
And the animal in my belly roared with approval. Or hunger. Or both.
I asked you what I should call it, the animal.
Fear, Anxiety or Excitement?
And you told me they're all the same.
You told me to not think too much.
So on a Thursday in October,
You took me to the top of the world
Knowing I was afraid of heights
And I followed you,
Like a pig for slaughter,
Desperate to feel something.
Anything.
