I am a cathedral of deadbolts
and I’d rather burn myself down
than change the locks. "
Swaying on a ledge
that marks the border between
the known and the unknown,
you stand alongside the footprints of another.
The craters carved into the rocks
resemble the crevices engraved into your palm.
Gripping onto the weathered skin
of the wilted flower, dying from
a lack of connection to its roots.
The cliff overlooking a thick layer of fog
that you’re too scared to part from
is wasting away some of the best years of your life.