Flying or Falling? (Edit)

[i.might.be.a.bit.sad]

Flying or Falling?

We looked up and couldn’t see
the ceiling.
I was a little afraid,
of smashing to bits.
You gave me sickly stems,
assured me they would bloom
soon.
I wasn't sure.
You launched us up anyway,
sure that your love would go on forever
and maybe yours did.

When I saw the permanence of granite
looming above me,
the dead stems in my hands,
I tried to pull back.
But you held me tight,
and made me want to die
for ever wanting to be
free.

When you shot through a crack in the bedrock,
I tried to back away, to slow down.
You shoved me away,
yelling that it was my fault.
I hit the cold cement,
unable to fake attraction anymore
and I seem to have
broken my trust
upon
landing.