i’m stuck on the edge of something and i’m sure i’ll find it under the waves that tug me like a hook in the eye and i know there’s something where the sky ends but i’m not sure what this pain is supposed to bring me closer to or what stain this salt is supposed to scrub or even if this is the lon

Little calloused hands climb up a grandfather clock
Pink cheeks and huffy breaths of exertion
We try to pull ourselves up the very same trees
That lightning struck down years ago
I don’t see my dad as much as I did back then

the two of you walk around the lake,
trying to balance on the familiar, unsteady ground.
around you, icicles hang from trees like glass ornaments,
swaying lightly in the wind.
they’re on the edge of breaking off the branches
but they don’t.

And I’d make myself sick if I was another person watching my thoughts. It’s a blurry and slow-moving
compilation of coincidences stacked on top of eachother: sticky teacups stacked on a desk, junk mail