The morning sun rises,
casting golden hues on empty shelves.
A quiet sigh escapes,
as the fridge door closes,
echoing the absence.

No milk today,
a simple truth,
yet it ripples through the day.
Coffee, dark and bitter,
cereal, dry and plain,
a reminder of what’s missing.

The cat meows,
eyes wide with expectation,
but the bowl remains empty,
a silent apology.

In the stillness,
memories of mornings past,
when the world felt full,
and the milk flowed freely,
creeping into the present.

No milk today,
but life goes on,
in the small moments,
the quiet resilience,
finding sweetness in the unexpected.

"Did you have the rest of the chicken before you went to bed?"
I pondered this aloud, my stomach tightly wed.
“No,” you whispered, “I left it for you,
I knew you'd be hungry when the clock struck two.”

I thanked you then, with a sleepy head,
Grateful for your thoughtfulness as I stumbled to bed.
“Did you check on the stars before you went to sleep?”
You asked, as you heard me quietly creep.

“No,” I admitted, “I watched them instead,
In my dreams they twinkled, right above my head.”
“Well,” you said, your voice soft and warm,
“They shone extra bright, after the storm.”

I smiled in the dark, imagining the sky,
And your words brought comfort, as the night drifted by.
“Did you remember to wish upon one?” you asked with care,
I nodded, sleepily, “Yes, I wished you were there.”

“Goodnight,” you murmured, “Sweet dreams ahead,
Let the stars and the chicken fill your head.”
With that, the night embraced our quiet talk,
And I dreamt of a starlit midnight walk.

blue mold splattered on the wall,
darkness inundating like dust,

a soft white light painting the scene,
the closest thing to serene,
and yet so far away and faint,

Purgatory, immobility, a throne made of the floor,
seated, seething, seeding on their knees,
the shadows are alive, they are beings,

baptized in the black ocean,
where roars drown the waves,

their fingertips almost succeeding,
poking at the watery grave,

wearing a waterous veil,
proceeded by their monstrous screams.

It is silence, and cold is all you feel,
when you're drenched inside it,
and your pain has become steel.

After all the things I've hoped for -
all the things I've heard and said,
I tried to fight the demons by
feeding proteins to my head
Inspiration is for a little child
Hardened maturity for the old
But I picked apart the good things
I've believed that I've been told
I guess I settled for a knock off
And told everyone I tried, and
threw some stones into the ocean
hoping it might change the tide..

Come home, sweet Surrender..
Hope you'll stay with all the mess
I wasn't expecting you to come
this late and find me in such distress
I'd like to say I've waited patiently,
but I'm scared of you instead..
after all the things I've hoped for
and everything I've heard and said..