The weight of your head,
like the whole globe on your shoulders,
the world on one neck,
the ache of one body.
Iβm tired, like all of the stress simply sits on my dreamsβ¨
while Iβm trying to sleep it away,
but I donβt get a break-
not even one day.
At least the bowl isnβt red anymore,
at least the sun is alight.
But Iβve ached for a year now, and itβs still so unclear how
I will heal, or if ever I will.
Keep sunny, keep yellow,
like the lilies in bloom
which sit on the drawers
at the end of my room.
The weight of my head,
like the whole globe on my shoulders,
the world on one neck,
the ache of one body.