stream of consciousness

cold coffee

tip of the iceberg

warm watered

river streams

running down my cheeks

"You have a home inside your head."

They will say it to you a million times.

Repeat it back.

At least until you start to believe it.

But you'll have to wake up soon.

And they won't be there to say that “the weather is..." or "time won't..." or that “it's going."

You have to wake up.

This isn't a place you can lay your head anymore.

The darkness will give way to the sun, creeping in with warmth beneath the panels and windows' edge. The warmth and light will surrender to the dark hush of eve.

That's where you need to go. Not here.

You need to see the darkness, dear.

Wake up now.

Can you feel it?

The cold, tight grip of your hand clenched to something you love. Does it move? Or has it's soul fled for higher ground?

Please.

Open your eyes.

Don't press your lips to his forehead like that. Not that way.

Don't roll your fingers down his jaw and across his neck. Not like that.

Don't let your heart out sprint your head, dear.

Not today.

Not tomorrow.

Come now, get up.

Move.

Wake up.

Remember the birds? I use to listen to them sing and the wind beat against their wings.

They sing of how you fell victim to a repeating tragedy.

I pray it gets better than this.

Maybe next year.

Maybe yesterday.

Remember the way my hands told tales without a single word.

Can you hear it?

Say it.

Just say it.

No, you have to.

"There's a home inside my head."

You're still here.

But I miss you to death.

8 stitches in college

Blood stains

Graced your skin

When your

Blood drained

From your chin

Caused you no pain

Took a fall on the

pavement

Clenched your teeth

Now your jaw's sprained

Red ran deep but

your wrist pain

Feels pretty numb now

As you sit on the couch