Quiet the broken mind,

which yearns to be put to sleep.

I allow my tears to roll down my chest,

sinking into my barren desert of a heart,

in hopes of replenishing--

rehydrating--

recycling this pain which is ever present.

Because I can no longer feel my lips.

I can no longer sense the pain.

I’ve become accustomed to your hands,

I know the backs as I know basic algebra.

And perhaps if I allow these droplets to make a home

outside of my eyes

they will cause my heart to bloat

and I can finally feel full again.

 

Quiet the worn mind,

which screams to be turned off.

A rip in my lower sleeve,

I look to hide the discrepancy.

Fingertips clutch the seam,

and turn red with what they have enclosed.

Pulling my wrist close to my stomach,

I hope to feel a pulse,

a steady beating,

because I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be alive.

 

Give yourself to the enlightened mind,

which has come to feel forgiveness.