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Chasing a Dime

Heads or Tales

By Katie-Lee McKenzie-LitawchukPublished 6 years ago 2 min read
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It's always a constant matter between life and death at the coin toss of a dull dime, in a "one in a million" chance at standing on the edge, chasing the pavement of that yellow brick road to what you call a "home."

To me, it's hell.

It's like you're stuck in time and your mind is on repeat of the natural and man-made disasters, intertwined... as they race past the clock in a blur. Tunnel-vision hit with a black screen, you feel so heavy but yet so light from the paralyzation from the fact that you can never really feel alive but, something in the back of my mind, that has a mind of it's own...

Telling yourself to pick up that dime.

Embrace what you're given and see what fits the score.

You feel so powerful for half-a-second and feel like complete shit for days. Emotional playground, with the happy findings of a dirty needle in the mulch of that bloodbath of a heart. Like a pill bottle filled with candied cotton to the rim, at the bottom of the slide that you find at your feet, in a life that scars.

It's as if you are at the fair, using up your last tokens and last ticket to ride until the gates are closed in on you. Only to be left again to walk home alone in the dark until the next find of a sidewalk dime, that dims a spark on the ground in a city light shadow.

Shadowing the trashcan that can hold your next fix, in exchange for another day wasted, being trapped in a skull with a leak. Teeth grinding in a dry mouth. Your ribs play against your empty stomach, you feel a comfort in it's cries. A sadistic blanket of comfort in your emptiness, emotionally and physically.

Your head pulling into a pillow, as your eyes roll to the back of your head, gazing blankly at the dreams you have at better life in a six second film. Right there but yet so far gone, with the ice-pick of hope at your finger tips.

It's almost there but, now it's gone and the film has deteriorated, the light you had seek had been blinding.

Where have I gone and who is she?...

Gazing at that same dime kissing the salted hand.

Why can't I find the silver lining? Could this really be all the sand that I have left?

The answer is heads.

---

Poem written by,

Katie-Lee R. McKenzie-Litawchuk

(24/yo First Nations Artist, Musician and Poet from Ontario, Canada.)

sad poetry
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About the Creator

Katie-Lee McKenzie-Litawchuk

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