laying face up in bed
 
 
 
 
studying patterns in the ceiling
 
 
 
 
like i used to do as a kid
 
 
 
  
trying to make sense of life
  
  
  
 
the way it moves the way it hurts
 
  
  
  
the way it doesn’t always work as intended
 
 
 
 
the wounds we take from trusted sources
 
 
 
 
how hard it can be to recover from loss
 
 
–
 
 
a little bit of day-drinking at noon
 
 
 
the epitome of relaxation
 
 
 
while I listen to an album of music
 
 
 
because she said it was her favorite
 
 
 
later go for a walk getting caught
 
 
 
in rain trickling petrichor
 
 
 
lightning flashing overhead
 
 
 
envelopes of thunder
 
 
 
sometimes I think of getting struck
 
 
 
just for the excitement of it
 
 
 
then a piano version of a heavy metal favorite
 
 
 
derails my thoughts for three and a half minutes
 
–
 
a river of ants on the sidewalk

makes me wonder what the fuss is

then a suspended insectoid arachnid whatthefuckisthat

it’s getting scared by a firefly is what that is

back at the apartment pull out a chair

and hope the rain doesn’t slant into cover

i need to read more books poems

to feed my soul with more positive things
–
and by day’s end i’m at peace
because little is as bad as it may seem
panic and stress take hold of the mind 
only when the skin is actively bleeding
of course you’d rather there not be
scabs and scars to offer their reminders
but if our story were to end today
i could confidently say I could walk away
i still think there’s another chapter though
maybe more if i’m honest to desire
and i’ll turn those pages when the words are read
all in search of that happy ending

–

all in hopes 

that the next time i march

into these wounds they’ll reopen

just a little bit less