Sleep don't visit, so I choke on sun.
And the days blur into one.
And the backs of my eyes hum with things I've never done.
Sheets are swaying from an old clothesline,
like a row of captured ghosts, over old dead grass.
Was never much, but we made the most.
Welcome Home.

Ships are launching from my chest.
Some have names, but most do not.
If you find one, please, let me know what piece I've lost.
Peel the scars from off my back.
I don't need them anymore.
You can throw them out or keep them in your mason jars.
I've come home.

All my nightmares escaped my head.
Bar the door, please don't let them in.
You were never supposed to leave.
Now my head's splitting at the seams. And I don't know if I can...

Here, beneath my lungs, I feel your thumbs, press into my skin again.