Some nights

When the wind blows cold
When the track sounds too old
When my voice is hoarse
My fingers too course- from

Gripping.

Onto something that has long left the
Building

When sadness comes in a wave I cannot recognize
And there is a biting in my bones that make me realize
That

Some nights
Like
Some days

Aren't yours
Aren't yours
Aren't.

Some nights,
When the wind blows cold
When the track sounds too old
When my voice is hoarse
My fingers too course- from

Hanging.
Onto hope that is so frayed that I am
Staring
At a rope so far away from reach
That I
Am quite ashamed to say
I'm not okay
These words are coming from a chasm deep inside
Filled with boxes packed so high
With little things I cannot speak of, cannot see because I'm scared because I'm not
Asfreeasallthestoriesthatiwriteandall
Thepicturesthatihopetodraw
AndallthesongsthatfadethemselvesintothesePOVsthaticanonlywishwereminebut
Aren't.

And I am breaking in all these ways I didn't know I could-
I don't know why this sadness comes to take me when I only pass as happy in all the times I should.

Some nights
Some nights,
When the wind blows cold
When the track sounds too old
When my voice is hoarse
My fingers too course- from

Hanging.
Onto all the nothings that make me sad in all these ways that make me break
In all the ways that leave me

Hanging.