Wake up at 6am
Everything hurts.
I have a stomach ache and
I am listening to "Fifty-Four" by Seahaven.

The mind is already bruised and
the heart a cyclone.

The world is blue and
I am blue and we are
all bent out of shape, we are
all haunted. And my mother,
and my mother's mother are
ghosts that live inside themselves.
And my father, and my father's
father are wounds upon their wounds.
And I, impaled on this misery, peer
out the window of a house on a cliff and
desire the abyss.

Perch the heart on the
fingertips like a tiny bird and
let it break the air and move.
Even as the twilight falls, even
as the sun sets, it will soar.

And maybe I am not so swollen anymore,
maybe I am not so lost anymore.

But I am still looking for home.