3:25 PM

Gray Monday morning feels
out of clean underwear so you wear
none
out of space on the floor
for the piles of clothes
and discarded good
intentions
Looks like rain
Sounds like
oppression

Angry words
still ring in
your ears
scrambling for a foothold
Either don't listen at all
or go all in and
unravel

But somewhere in your muscle memory
in the molten lava that cooled in your gut
and took your soul with it
the slightest amber
ember
lights
and smolders
and warms the void

In the mess that is life around you
spring little words
and leaves of white paper turned to stories
In the mess that is life around you
your life returns
to the page.