Our colors spill, rainbow-like
from sleepy-eyed midnight stars;
gold-edged moon

peeks through the cracks.

We know that we are broken, blurred,
beaten between the lines of self-doubt.

This soil is tainted,
torn like mowed grass,
finely splintered

like the shards of shattered dreams.

Carry my worries on your shoulders,
piggyback, like that nice uncle I never had
until constellations fall back into view
and all the pieces fit together by morning.



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