Burnout

I am a world. 

And my streams of blood live in vines of veins. 

I tell myself this when I finally get out of bed 

I remind myself when my roots detach and 

I can no longer live as the shelter I thought I could be.

I remind myself when the grinds of life 

Bring about impending doom to 

Crush our flowers to dust for their machine.

I am who I want to be. 

I try to convince myself that if I spend enough time with pen and paper,

I can dissolve in the ink.

There’s no respite when daydreams end. 

And when reality hits me, 

My rivers become polluted. 

And I am a world I no longer want to live within.