I stare up at the ceiling and see this crevice that splits two ends of me
Where had I lost the tolerance I prayed for?
Fleeting is my reverence for potential these days.
I find my tears taste less like salt at the thought- your actions remain pressing.
You find me sweet, attest to every transaction.
He's working night shifts- inside and out.
Indiscreet are these walking ghosts with homes shaped like sheets.
Should I stay or should I go?
The two sides never meet.