Visitor

I should’ve been

another visitor

at sunset

because down here

the grass smells like prison cells

and pancakes taste

like thunderstorms

and I break

every morning over coffee

and every night over regret

and my knees scrape

on prayer mats

and my lips bleed

from confessions

and my eyes drown

in reservoirs

I keep creating

like arts n crafts projects

and

I dip my skin in glitter

and my hollowness in laughter

but

my brokenness keeps breaking

and

I’m jealous of the visitors at sunset.