I haven’t slept.
I spent the night,
at the mercy of memories,
how my miserable mind contorts them.
I am comforted,
by the old,
“No news is good news”.
Carrying my anxiety,
to my altar,
empowered but exhausted,
I kneel before the rising sun,
as if you are at its core,
my tears are on full display,
sacrificing,
offering,
pleading.
There are some moments,
where I’m so sure,
where I’m going,
until I am undone,
unwelcome by my own mind.
It has been six days,
since the last time I started counting,
spades are singular,
by the front door.
Am I digging?
Am I planting?
