In the mornings
My eyes ache from the inside out.
Like I’ve been keeping flames locked inside my head while I slept.
Like I bottled up things that are toxic to the breath
And set them on shelves I’ve only seen in my head.
And it feels like I’m a child again.
4 am wake up calls
To climb in cars, joints achey
Eyes burning from the backside out
And driving across deserts and storm lands.
Headed to see relatives and friends
I can’t remember the names of.
So I avoid waking early.
I let my eyes rest until all the fire and the smoke
Clear out from the back of my head.
And when I wake up
I don’t have to be afraid of the things I stored there
Because they all seeped out of my eyelids
And soaked down into the mattress below.