I don't want to believe in purpose.
I don't want to believe that
I am worthy of more than misery.
What would it mean if I was?
I wait for the sun to rise along
the Alaskan costal trail.
I am tired but sleep is a long off thought.
My eyes graze along mountains as if they
were in arms reach.
On the wings of pink wings an orange
blazes from the long off peaks.
Warmth, a hug flung upon the world.
The color green is coming to life in
the trees.
Small birds calling and I imagine
they know my name.
All this time I've sank into the night
where I thought I was nothing.
I admit,
I have hope.
Apr 11
Apr 11, 2026 at 6:09 PM UTC
I don't want to believe in purpose.
I don't want to believe that
I am worthy of more than misery.
What would it mean if I was?
I wait for the sun to rise along
the Alaskan costal trail.
I am tired but sleep is a long off thought.
My eyes graze along mountains as if they
were in arms reach.
On the wings of pink wings an orange
blazes from the long off peaks.
Warmth, a hug flung upon the world.
The color green is coming to life in
the trees.
Small birds calling and I imagine
they know my name.
All this time I've sank into the night
where I thought I was nothing.
I admit,
I have hope.