Photo by Mads Schmidt Rasmussen on Unsplash
I should’ve been
another visitor
at sunset
because down here
the grass smells like prison cells
and pancakes taste
like thunderstorms
and I break
every morning over coffee
and every night over regret
and my knees scrape
on prayer mats
and my lips bleed
from confessions
and my eyes drown
in reservoirs
I keep creating
like arts n crafts projects
and
I dip my skin in glitter
and my hollowness in laughter
but
my brokenness keeps breaking
and
I’m jealous of the visitors at sunset.
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