3.30.18

-
I tried to find inspiration in anything,
in the way blood dripped absentmindedly down my thumb,
how I kept picking an unintentional, self-inflicted wound.
I drive back and forth every week,
and I try to find something
beautiful in the sights I am too used
to seeing.
I glanced at the sign, two differing arrows,
"Shopping center" to the left,
"Cemetery" to the right,
as if the two could be easily confused.
I let words flow from my fingertips last night
with the viscosity of honey
and with identical sweetness.
I store these words and thoughts and feelings of
melancholy love, waiting for the time to let it all
pour out.
This hibernation is supposed to provide safety,
but I can still feel a few cracks spread
across my heart.
I tried to find inspiration in anything,
especially you.

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