It's been years since the last time
that I put words together, making them rhyme.
Honestly, it feels like a crime.
to not have been writing for a long time.

My mind is like a Sunday morning in a weekend farmer’s market. Alive, chaotic and beautiful.

Where is the beauty in death?
I ask,
A figure of light answers
"I have never looked beautiful in your mind,"
"When a cloud of darkness consumes you, you see me as a gruesome way out."
I have never imagined you as something graceful, I answer
"I have only been ugly because you want me too quickly."
I shiver at my truth,
It echoes in the depths of my soul,
I did not reply
"I am complicated and painful, but never when one is ready. Never when their clock has stopped ticking on its own."
Why has mine continued,
Why has it felt as if the world cursed me with time?
"I am afraid you'd have to ask life that, you have not given him a lot of attention lately."
I am in between,
I feel stuck,
When will you come for me?
"I will hold you gently when the time comes, I promise you it is not today nor tomorrow."
What if I invite you graciously?
"Do not wish for me, I am not a wonderful savior."
But what do I do with this agony? The agony of living?
"You continue on like the rest, you will be able to, I have seen your clock, it is a strong and lasting one."