My Body is Not My Own by Kevin Castro

Sometimes I feel like the co-pilot in a falling plane

Meant to mindlessly soar across a barren plane

The desert beckons to me,

Its call echoing throughout my mind like a prayer

And I am its dying god.

The desert threatens to burn me alive

The closer I get to it,

But what kind of god doesn’t answer his people’s prayers?

And when I come back into my own body,

On the rare chance that whatever else is here allows me to have control,

My hand is on its way into a deep fryer at work,

Onto a stove while I make breakfast,

Hovering over an open flame,

Or dipped in candle wax.

I think that whatever is here with me has been long dead,

I know it fears the possibility that it will fade away soon,

Fade into the vast emptiness

Unable to escape Nothing’s sweet embrace.

So, I let it stay,

I let it seek out the warmth.

I let it burn me alive,

But only if it keeps me alive.

Because someone in this body has to want to keep us alive.