• madnessextraordinaire 9w

    I try to cry but
    can only locate nausea and heartburn where my sadness used to live
    I poke my eyes to see if my tears are still home
    but it seems like they might be on some exotic holiday
    or maybe gone fishing
    I have too much time to think
    about dying in the shower
    Imagine the amount of hot water I'm wasting
    I keep death at my feet
    Scratch him behind the ear, pet him a little bit
    Mostly he is a good boy
    I recall lemongrass tea on the evening
    I cupped my hands to bring a moth back into the night
    Save it from the light
    but salvation crumbled the moment I touched it
    and all that was left was shimmering ash all over the warmth of my reckless hands.