I woke up with a dissonance in my chest. I’m so used to a dull heartbeat thudding against my hollowed rib cage, but that’s okay. I tell myself I’m getting better. Better than ever. Better than the small cries for help that get caught in the back of my throat. Coughing up the flowers that I never planted in my garden- tulip pedals bursting through my two lips, digging into my carpet begging to root themselves, but wilting too quickly. When the world takes, everything starts to decay in its own, twisted ritual. It makes a mess of me. I hide it behind blankets and rugs and makeup and laugh lines and you can’t ever tell how bruised my ribs are from laughing to hard at the chaos. Laughing until I cry. Laughing at everything I couldn’t do. I’m just trying to keep myself alive amongst the hollows in my body- trying to fill them with something pure. Something holy. Trying to turn my arrows away from the world and surrender for awhile, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how. I don’t know how to plant seeds in a garden that doesn’t get light anymore. It’s been vacant for a decade and two years. Help me again, please. Show me how blossoming isn’t linear. It’s starts in the soil. I’m feel mourning in the morning light because I woke up with a dissonance in my chest -AMT