The sun is three planets away,
But you and I still burn like we live on it

I like to take care of things, despite the fact that I never could
care for myself
I tend to flower seedlings, little green silent things thriving on the bathroom shelves
They reach upward to the light while my own soul reaches down to...
My spirit withers while I
Sow seeds of zinnia and ox-eye
Poppies spring from fertile ground while I feel like I could die
Cut sprigs of Rosemary and on the same day
put furrows in my skin, I need to
Prioritize, rationalize or soon I'll share the ground they're in

I want to touch lava but I can't

There's a time to test
The waters, and there's a time
To jump in head first

To choose a life
Whose life? The life of me, or the life of my child? There can only be one
A child who would not be born, but from his dead mother's defective womb untimely ripped
Or a Mother - a woman who would be broken and bleeding long before she had any choice to make
This is no temple for life
I was made with loose screws, wrong pieces, were I an appliance, I would be sent back but I have no warranty to fulfill
And maybe God used a faulty chisel when carving my form, maybe he used the wrong clay when shaping me, making me
Faulty.

Him drowning in drink
Her trying again
Them relapsing
Going back
Coming back
Most of all, them leaving me

What does it say about me, then, that to make life would take mine away?