they always come in pairs.
They make me count my somedays once more –
like sheep hopping across my soul.
It’s a rerun, a replay. A return to that piercing moment.
And I can densely feel
the odds eating me up alive.
It pains going back to mapping out that sound spot for this feeble heart —
in the baffling wake-up calls;
every time I carelessly plunge;
as secrets brutally swivel beneath my toes.
And I’m drained from spitting the words over and f***ing over again,
“Thank you, goodbye. Thank you.”
like the cold blood in songs that cradle me –
back to being alone.