I guess I’ll write to see if I can evoke the thoughts within my heavy head and chest. I guess I’ll see if the world isn’t too dark to face in this tired state of mind. My love is heavy and my eyes are hot and damn it’s hard when the past is dredged up. It’s one of those moments where everything triggers and I just want to move to Portugal. But fuck I learned to love and now I’m scared of what is coming around. I don’t really pray but if I did I’d ask for another day, another dollar but only if I keep the same lover and if he’d know what it’s like to be sad that it wouldn’t be penetrating deep like it does to my core. Will tomorrow be a Brand New day that I can face as I open my windows to let in the sky and a mosquito or too? I guess I’d pray for forgiveness for all of the times that I wasn’t enough and that I decided to give up instead of move onwards into the day that tomorrow could be. It’s a pandemic, really, the way things end up with slight infection catching on and infesting the tendrils leading to the veins coming out of your heart (is that right?). It hurts me to hurt you but fuck am I sad sitting on my bathroom floor under the burning water. Maybe I’ll feel something.
The disappointment comes in waves when I think of a past lover who was so good at wrecking my ship while out at sea. He wrote songs that resonated as my vessel sunk into deep cool water while all lifeboats cracked in two. Still, his siren song were sung and the cool light of the sun bore down on me drowning my sight as my lungs filled with water. My vessel is now a mountain underneath the sea.
I looked at our old pictures and nearly fell in love again,
A whirlwind of butterflies so bittersweet—oh the pain.
I guess all that I dreamt of was a waste and in vain.