Cracked lips in the fan light
Holding half the stories we wished
Hoping the sliding screen door doesn't
close for good in the early morning silences.
And I can't seem to get ahold of myself
I keep slipping through the seams
Being human has a lot less to do with living
And all you're trying for isn't getting better at all
But it helps
That all
You are
Is real.
And the pressure in your chest fades
If you just let it.