poetry for the poetic: 5

LXXIX

i phase myself in and out like clouds washing the sky with memories of wanting to be memorable, during my sleep i still dream and it gets like this most nights, you don't remember your dreams too often. i know you're feeling out of place, i know you're head flips itself upside down trying to find the otherwise of the coin, i know you're still running while sitting still– the dark room holding onto your closed windows may be the only reason as to why you're alive. i know most nights it goes into a pit of chaos swallowing you whole, i know most nights you don't want to be in a house that doesn't feel like home, and i know that you wait for brighter hues to break through. but try. just keep trying.