I’m grieving on a Monday. Lost in horoscopes that are working to stitch me back together by giving me a reason why the sun and the moon don’t mix well with my blood. I’m a dream catcher threading memories and subconscious violence in the wake of a storm. All these things remind me that the world is unwell, not me. Last night I heard sirens pass through the country air. The quiet town grew curious and rose from their slumber as the cornfields sighed in relief. Another fire broke out of its chains and burned an old barn down to nothing. Watched it eerily reach its smoldering limbs towards safety- but it vanished in the smoke. Nothing is safe from a flame. And if I could strike a match for every time I felt the heaviness levitate over my rib cage, I’d breath fire. Think of how all the days mesh into a single file line for my bad dreams to mold into whatever it pleases. Rewrite shortcomings and sadness and frustration in blank pages that never fucking end. Scribble the ink like the flames that rose into another mourning- it’s nothing new- i’m just grieving on a Monday. -AMT