I learned early—
nothing leaves clean.
Not grief.
Not love.
Not the versions of you
you had to bury to survive.
Fallen tears.
Coffee stains.
Sunlight
cracks through the window—
soft,
but unforgiving.
Heaven—
a state of mind.
Hell
lives deep in the heart.
Smoke without fire.
Footsteps that don’t return.
And something in you
still counting the dead.
Yesterday’s faults
become tomorrow’s sorrows.
In the dark corners of my mind
I string stars like fairy lights.
I take thunder in my chest
and turn it to fuel—
to light the fire within.
Deep with rage
the soul rots between the bones.
Voices fade.
Words disappear.
Sleep comes—
never gently.
Standing alone in the forest,
the ground underneath
swallowing me whole.
I escape morning
After night
has unearthed my bones.
Regrowth is not gentle.
I died at midnight—
A slow bleed,
crying spells,
fractures beneath the surface.
Learning to grow
in the soil of last year’s failures—
they are lessons,
not a death sentence.
I shed the stories that kept me small,
shut the doors that fed the dark.
I make peace with sunlight,
and the quiet pull of moonlit nights.
I embrace the changes—
soft,
loud,
necessary.
I hold the tender moments.
I love—despite the madness.
Revival.
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