Where do you go to rest? What makes you feel worthy of it ? I give myself permission to move on but it takes guts and I don’t have much of those. I filled them with sadness and damaged the lining- now poison leaks through me and I throw up the truth like I never lost it. I try and walk, but fall to my knees. Everyone thinks I’m some sort of magic. They reach for the fullest parts of me and start pulling at the seams. Don’t look at me like you didn’t try to kill me too. Even if you didn’t mean it, you reached for those seams. I watched your trembling hands weave loose strings through your fingertips like fine latticework. I unravel and crash like the waves in my mind that cannot be tamed. I spill over and over and over again. Smiling with blood in between my teeth- making the white enamel glow. You say it’s tragic and I call it life after the fact. No one moves on from it. They just unravel and stitch themselves back together until the holes in their bodies have some sort of cushion. They go to rest. They’re worthy of sleep too. They’re not really magic, after all. They just know how to be sad. -AMT©️