at 4 in the
morning the sun
is never up
but i usually am

i worry
about things
that are out of
my control
even more about
things that are

get up early
when i work
and earlier
when i don’t
the older i get the
more i learn
sometimes you
need to cry it out

alone
at night
into your pillow
the blankets
wrapped all
around you

sometimes you
need to cry
and cry
and cry

until the morning
sun falls across
the tears dried
under your lashes

and the lump
in your throat has
dissolved so you can
breathe with ease

you need to get up
let hot water
wash it away
let the steam rising
from your mug soften
any sorrow left around
your morning eyes
take a deep breath
don’t mention it
to anyone

and
just
keep
going

i will
just
keep
going

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

they say with lovers time stands still,
i didn't fully understand until one rainy morning in paris. you'd let me wander aimlessly around my favourite bookstore for hours, smiling sweetly at my excitement even though you hadn't read the prose. you escaped into the morning air, i walked out of the doorway to find you and the hands of time silenced. there you were, tucked underneath the dew; the crimson morning sun lighting you up. you were deep in conversation with a lone artist, mesmerized by her work. the watercolours dancing in your eyes. i thought you looked so beautiful, that the notre dame behind you dwarfed in comparison. in that second i knew i would spend forever trying to keep that look in your eyes.

people always say that it really hurts at night
when the world is quiet and the loudest thunder that come striking your head is your only thought
which apparently screaming into your pillow at 3 AM is the romantic equivalent of having your heart broken

but sometimes it is also 9 in the morning
when you are standing beside the kitchen table waiting for the toast to pop up
and the smell of two espresso shots in your favorite cup makes you miss them so much until you don’t know what to do with your hands

terrified
that was the word you used
terrified to jump in too quickly
terrified of being consumed
and i wonder
if anxiety clutches at your chest when you think of me
because you care
or if your feelings for me run by
blurry
like the blackened trees at night on our long drives

Where will you go when the music ends?
When the time comes to make amends
Or be bound to earth by chains of vice
Far below the sky’s burning ice?
Breath be the warden of this madhouse
Guarding against the eternal spouse
Of fear, descendant of night.
Only after you sleep can all be made right.

fall in love
fall apart
fall asleep
- and repeat