Poems

Daydream, 1:53AM

This is my break

This is the peace I wished for,
Every birthday
And every burning astroid.
This is it. It is now, but I do not feel like I'm running out of time.

This is slow
This is the slow ticking of a clock,
The slow, deep breaths of slumber,
The breeze,
The overnight cold brew
The peace of nowhere to go, nothing to do
Time must be passing, because I am perceiving,
but I do not feel like I am dying.

I have always felt the weight of life; hot and fast. To feel and to die and to be reborn

My therapist says I chase chaos
Says I like the feeling of not feeling
The apathy present in burning alive; a broken minds substitute for peace

But this is not burning

This is blooming

Oh what a gift it is to live in the present,