We are never fully prepared, though we prep what’s on our plate.
Trying to dish it out, so we carry the weight.
Gravitating to a state of hate, we race.
Looking for space to face fate.
Reaching lines to find pieces of mind Seeing it pass in halves as the night says I am fine.
Searching through dreams but there’s nothing inside.
Trying to breathe before time sentences 25 to life.
Prisoner, reflecting what’s within my head.
Looking for direction every night in bed.
Sending out calls, telling God, I don’t want to lose myself.
Scrolling through messages remembering how it was dealt.
Trying to forgive the person looking back.
The monster, the shadow, awaiting the dark to come back.