awake
thinking of all
of the
infinite ways
to say sorry
as there
are stars in the
nightsky.
i'll dream in
my
sorrows from
hell.
the hell
that is
my life.
it's hard to
live
on some days.
even when
the
sun is bright
and
the breeze is
strong,
my brain will
feel
like a beach
storm.
YOU ARE READING
plastic
Poesiamost wings are made of bones and skin and feathers, but what if mine are made of nothing but rubber and glue?
