every 28 days,
the human skin replenishes itself.
my hands are tired of building new homes
on top of old eviction letters.
I am aching for a body
that treats me like a cure,
and not the disease that needs it.

I live as a counterfeit version of myself;
I am a kleptomaniac who steals the breath
from people that would have found a use for it.
tell me how to refund
what I didn't buy.

my veins are a breeding ground for despondency,
my bones a shelter for malaise.
to try to be kind to myself
is to cauterize a wound
after the infection has already spread.

There are some days, the dullest kind.
When the sun doesn't shine on you.

The sun rays,
they don't enter your soul or your room.
And the sky appears all dark and gloom.

Those are the kind of days, darling.
When you have to smile.
All your broken pieces, you must align.
And create your own sunshine.


Sayali