we might be different people

If I think about my hands, they are reaching for something

Would you rather be happy or would you rather have it all?
the good and the bad,
everything minus one.

Have you ever before felt sad to see sadness fade,
or chased depression angrily
and prayed to remember the nights from which it came?

they are all I have left of faith.
Faith in something that is not a word, or words;
something new
which I almost can't remember–

i do not know what to say.

So write me with the ink that drips through the cracks of your new life
and I'll try to make sense of it all

as long as you carry on

"this one's different," my friend told me.

© 2017-18