You hang your childhood drawings on the wall of your new home. But you’re far from being a kid and feeling young is as nostalgic as you make it. You drag bare knees and palms across the wooden floor- skin peeling against the grain. Blood marks leave the faintest hue, but you know they’re there. You think you’re dying, but you’re not really dying, you’re just growing out of who you used to be. You shatter your teeth against the nightstand on your way down- worried about sad words getting loose. But you still lye there and watch the fragments stick the floor like confetti. You’ll stand back up though, I promise. You’ll paint a picture that’s quite familiar, scribble marks and all. You’ll hang it in your next home except this time it won’t feel as sad. -AMT ©️