He said,
“Just fun and play.”
But I was already
half player,
half ache.
I don’t know how
to be light
when I carry
so much sky.

Like wild trees,
people branch out
fiercely—unconscious.

Some limbs reach
for light,
while others curl
into shadow.

Each one is growing
in their own time.
It’s never about you.

Don’t be bothered
by the thorns they wear.
A tree must grow them—
it’s part of its nature,
like armor,
like a dress.

I stretched far enough
to hug the moon—
and it didn’t flinch.
It stayed—unbothered,
like it had been waiting.

My mind shuts down
like a city at midnight—
lights off,
but echoes still
wandering the streets

Your absence hit
like a stem,
fresh-cut—
sap still weeping,
leaves still turning
toward a blue,
fictioned sun.

There’s something malignant
inside me—something that
hums in the dark,
fingers strumming a guitar
against my ribs at midnight.
By morning, a daisy unfurls
at my throat—
its tendrils trailing upwards,
like thoughts searching
for stillness at my mouth.

Patience is the drug.
The more I taste it,
the more it lingers—
a stillness I now seek.

I swim through its
endless depths, sculling
like a deep-sea fish,
where light is scarce,
but slits of beauty
glow along the fins.

It brings peace—
dilating the heart
like honey, slowly poured
into the vessels,
sweetness thickening
the body—richer than doubt,
denser than love.

God’s gift—passed to me,
without a question.