and if the night doesn't hold you still,
i hope you know that the world will
spin the same way it did yesterday,
and you can begin again.
tenderly,
ae.
i saw signs of grieve laid at the floor of my rented unit. those mid-level strands of hair fell like stardust during the nights of sorrow. i left my week-long filth on the bed that hugged me as i sob my melancholy, grabbing the bag filled with broken dreams i had as a little child.
looking at the calque of crap i couldn't bring myself to wash at days i am (never) free, whelmed my drive to pit. my shoulders slouched watching my unchecked to-do list expires drastically and the notes i had on my motivated days grew molds. i always knew that life is a nightmare, i never thought it would fuck me at days on end.
my wrist grew lines of discoloration from tremendous hate i gain from always being the second best. i wore bracelet like saints as if a miracle would hide the ugliness i did when the night has come and i am accompanied by sharp little fellows. my year-worn jackets made my blemishes twinge and bandages do no comfort on the once delicate skin my grandma used to take care of.
i say sorry to myself millions of times for not being the person it has to be since the beginning. i am getting bald and my dreams are fading. i am being left off the track and the race are now filled with broken drivers whom lives are bartered by fame.
i am but a broken child. the night isn't good to me. i am a serial sleeper whose thoughts would submerge with hell hoping my eyes won't open 'til the next morning but it always did— the cycle never ends.
