Full To Bursting

My dreams are hollowed out,

Full of sick, empty bones.

There's a ringing in my ears

And I think maybe this time

I won't be able to get up.

.

Is this all there is for me?

.

Cold nights, colder days.

Things that break patterns,

Rage that shatters fine china,

Words that slip inside and force

Trauma into my eyes.

.

When did I run out of tears?

.

I can taste a sunset before it lands.

Maybe it's the bleeding orange of the sky

Cracking open like a winter tangerine

In the middle of a classroom, sterile

Of thoughts and dreams and ambition.

Maybe that's where I learned how

To taste the sunsets before they arrived.

.

This wasn't what I wanted.

.

I'm living in the rain but waiting for the red,

Waiting for the burn of the end.

And somewhere deep inside my melting bones

I must know that this can't end the way I think.

There is nothing prophetic about my pain.

It is a pattern, taught, enforced, and taught again.

And I am confident in the way I'll crumble.