My prose is sinister, breaking windows for fool’s gold, consistently known for letting things go and causing unfoldings of families. I brainstorm lines on FaceTime forcing rhymes inside my mind. Behind my knowledge of assonance I hide my ignorance of the vastness of the human imagination. How could I provide the wisdom that a nation needs when I barely have the gumption to get up and brush my teeth? Daily tasks become boulders that need rolling - planes upon planes of space removed from the one whose love I long for. I know that one day I will wake to his face and things will feel sane and I won’t have to wait through hours of pain before hearing him say my name. I sing the song of Sisyphus, shaking my fists before calling it quits again, knowing tomorrow will be the same s**t again. Maybe that’s why I slashed a leak in my own boat, I’m just trying to save myself from falling out of consciousness. I’m laughing in the faces of optimists everywhere but I’m still on the verge of breaking down, are you surprised?