The Sun Will Rise

Even at your lowest point, the sun will always rise again

I let the darkness 

seep into my skin

as if it would stop

my bones from rattling.

Babbling sirens pierce my ears

forgetting what the morning brings,

I hear nothing but the psychoanalysis

of my own lips breathing out nonsense. 

Expectations dangle from the ceiling

blocking out all the light from the moon

enlisting its own doom 

into my growing pores. 

They reach for sadness like sunlight

a direct way to feel again,

despite my echoing cries

they continue to try and be something.

My body aches of its own type of arthritis,

derived from the weight of surviving,

years of looking for a way out

wore on my joints like sandpaper.

So I erode,

tiny flecks of golden dust

fall to the floor as I walk,

glowing in the hue of dusk reclining

itself into my chest. 

I am left with the dread of failure

and regrets I know best

waiting for the dawn to support me,

but the darkness lasts for days. 

I wait

and I wait,

and eventually the sun will rise 

and I will be okay.