sick of lying down on days greyed out
into my age
hate to hear what my peers have to say about living
and working more than half the time
it has taken me a living to get to where I am now
still reaching
to be less than comfortable
a good amount of anxiety upon my chest
the thought that down the road
you could find me with a little less baggage
maybe thinned out into a ghost
wonder what you find with my silly body
in time
line out the crook of your neck
do you realize it as your own
after staring down the back of your hand
suck on your fingertips
I am a child
salt on my tongue
crying into the cotton of your jacket