We’re just digging in the dirt.
And I miss what I’ve never had.
Remnants of our skin gather on the floor.
I’m not convinced that it’s not that bad.
It’s hot and we’re sweating.
These limbs have cold.
The air feels too sticky.
Young heart but it feels old.
No organization at all
To these lies I’m confessing.
I can’t find what I need.
How can life be so messy?