I used to be alright living life on my own. Covering my own footsteps and spending my money on useless things.
I used to spend most nights dreaming of lands untrue and sipping from the glass of isolation. Upon my nightstand was a poem that wrote: 'to the one of mine'.
Shifting slabs of unbearable loneliness and stress so jammed I could mass produce it.
The slumber of then seems depressing. The glass I drank from has splintered.
The face of a woman that's true and a vessel of unholy righteousness now nods off beside me...weeps beside me.
The heart from within breaks with consistent mending and a smile held up by her twines.
A home within a home. And a place that travels to me. Love above all unquestionably withstands the hardship of hard fortes.
©
T