The pieces of me are fading, autumn colors, leaves and sky.
And the birds are flying more South than me. It's so cold. I am not this. I am not me. I am. What the hell am I doing? Besides hating hating and crying and trying.
It cannot be that. I have much much more muchiness to give back.
I was not made for this era. But maybe decades ago. I am not capable of this task, of this life such as it is today. I need to change this low low low. I say through smiles and falsetto tears, I'm Okay....But....No one knows, no nothing. And thinking is assuming is making and ass of u and me. Insomnia meets deadlines blends into days. When was the last time I slept?
I need out. This is not not not knot what I am made for. Knots in my heart and soul. Anxiety out my eyes. And I spend my nights in tears and sighs.
But she's so pretty, in her little white socks that go up to her knees. Wednesday came when Sunday woke, and she's here for me when things are tricky. She curls and wraps into my lap. A blanket of purr and whiskers. She knows everything and will not speak my secrets. She holds them in her chest with that rattles that makes her purr. She doesn't care that I am a crystal-less chandelier. She does not mind that I am broken. She accepts it and rescued me. And she is my heart.
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