3 minutes till morning. my body does the most
peculiar things when i'm anxious. my lights are as dim
as can be and my eyes are crescent moons.
1 minute till morning. cotton sheets make soft the sting
of insomnia. my room is something like a boat. everything tucked into
a cubby,
closet,
or crevice.
if only the sea was really beneath me, lapping at my bed frame
and keeping me afloat.
morning. September 2nd. let the showers come.
some flowers would be nice 'round here.
