I felt like I was robbed
Stabbed
Ever since I was eight
When I ate
And felt good
About my childhood
So carefree
So bother free
I was robbed
And stabbed
In the back
With a pitchfork

Now, I'm dealing with injuries
Heart injuries
That never gets better
Only poorer
As days go by
And fly by
It gets more tiring
And damaging
To move
To make a move

☕︎‎

I want to be the light leaking through your kitchen window.

The fresh juice.
Warm muffins.
Birds singing.
Coffee brewing.

                                                    But,
                                                I am not.


I’m the leaky faucet you still haven’t got around to fixing.

The orange peels.
Burnt toast.
Cracked eggs.
Broken mug.

                                        Breakfast ruined.

𓇋

Eyes burning
Head spinning
Palms dry

What is happening?
What am i doing?

Will it be worth it in the end?

Will i remember these filler-days as much as the valuable ones?

True is a moment of the false
False?

Head spinning
Eyes burning
Palms dry

Have i done this to myself?

A victim of my own devices standing stoically blue.

the moon pulls the tide over the sand like a blanket over a babe that turns in their sleep

It’s midnight somewhere and the waves repeat simple instructions
ssshhhh

I’m waiting for you;
Waiting for you to
Appear,
Yet I fear
That you never will.
It’s been twelve years
And you still
Haven’t arrived
In my life.
Where are you, pray tell?
I should know all too well
If you’re here,
But I still don’t think you’re near.

I almost fell down the pit
But I was held up by a thousand strings
I was glad they saved me
But not the pain it brings

It took every muscle to hold me up
For the strings, I had to carry them all
But maybe I want a break
Maybe for once I want to fall

I hate
The stabbing feeling
At my food and water’s gate
Into my body.
Hate dealing
With the bacteria in me
When their arrows
Are pointed in that narrow,
Singular spot
When anything cold or hot
Just hurts. Please
Leave me alone; no lease
Was signed before
You declared war
On the space
That wasn’t yours
In the first place.

Sweat
Drips down my forehead.
I regret
Joining this race
In the first place
(Though there’d be nothing else to
Do
Instead).
My whole body
Is on fire; I’m wondering what drove me
To run
At the start.
My heart’s
Used to the sprint, but this one
Is unbearably long.
Why does everyone else look so strong?
Others are
Far
Ahead of my pathetic last
Place. This is the time for me
To be
Running fast,
Yet images of past
Failures (no victory
In sight) is all I can see.
I’m tired.
My throttles have been fired.
Continuing this race is just cruel–
I’ve already run out of fuel.