Have You Ever Been Low?

Crushed in a way that
makes moving impossible, sticky drips on the
sidewalk, aching eyes staring into the darkness
of two in the morning, sleepless, watchful.
You are the last petal to fall from the flower,
the lone robin left north in November,
there is no one to lead you to warmth.
It is August and you are slimy with heat and
yet somehow deeply cold in the marrow of your bones.
You regret nothing,
Instead somehow you are the one regretted,
you could not escape it, you spun on your heels and
dove, a perfect subconscious swan dive into
this forever, this early-morning oblivion of lonely tangled brains.