Steaming tea mists the windows and the trickles of tears remind me of winter
The grey view.
Brushing off my senses, to the real task
The mind wipes the dirt off of it’s database and rumbles into action, searching,
The vacuum whirs
A headache of knowing that you are going to do something, and you do not know what.
The ache reaches to your loins, the innermost parts of you,
pressing into the fear that underlies your every action, that you might not be able to manage today, that you might die.
But there’s no use in dying
Try finding a line, for the song of it
Even if there is nothing to say
It’s gaping you know
I see you living in the in-between places in your mind
because of pain.
Even pain that’s not around anymore.
Even pain that you made to warm yourself.
Look at your reflection in the hourglass, sister
The only you you ever knew
and take flickers from the water,
make a periscope,
and watch them fly.
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Image by Ruatsanga