In October of 2019 I Called a Suicide Hotline for the First Time in My Life

Cut through this clockwise fog

I'm finding new substance in detail and waking up

Embodied in reflective puddles and impulsive acts of clarity

Why go home?

Let go

Dissolve into blossom

I am the beauty in the trees

Kind blanket skies

Tear through my willing flesh and bone to dust

In the wind

In your skin

Cloudless in melon-tinged sunsets

And locked at the wrists