we spend our lives looking for reasons
to crown upon the heads of chaos,
grasping at the corners of our reality,
desperately seeking comfort in our happy endings,
cheating minds into believing it will all
work out, only to affront the gaping reality that
it won’t.

recalling all the times you’ve looked up
at the sequin encrusted cloak of night,
that wraps around your languid figure,
like the quiet of your mother’s womb
and felt the earth moving.
when you jumped,
and the world kept spinning.

and it screamed out of the bloodshot horizon,
that this is only the dawn,
and it will never set.