The sun leaks in through glass and dust,
8 a.m., warm, golden, just—
enough to stir, but not to move.
My chest still bears a weight I prove
can pin me down through morning light,
then lull me back to lazy night.
I blink—and thunder shakes the frame,
rain drums the glass, it calls my name.
I reach again for glowing blue—
7 p.m. It can’t be true.
A whole day lost in linen seams,
swallowed by half-conscious dreams.
I whisper what I always say:
Tomorrow, I will not decay.
May 30, 2025
May 30, 2025 at 9:46 PM UTC
The sun leaks in through glass and dust,
8 a.m., warm, golden, just—
enough to stir, but not to move.
My chest still bears a weight I prove
can pin me down through morning light,
then lull me back to lazy night.
I blink—and thunder shakes the frame,
rain drums the glass, it calls my name.
I reach again for glowing blue—
7 p.m. It can’t be true.
A whole day lost in linen seams,
swallowed by half-conscious dreams.
I whisper what I always say:
Tomorrow, I will not decay.