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I fear the days I run empty —no words left in my desert of a heart and no ears to listen to the silent cries of my mouth
I fear the days I break my ego —no salvation to look forward to and no peace during the nights
I fear the days I think of myself as not enough—no time given to love myself and no rungs to hold on to when the currents of envy take me
I fear these days—truly —I feel like there's no one who could save me because I shout at the heavens wishing for it to turn and look at me but all I get are clouds drawn like curtains closed indefinitely
I fear the days I run with just a meager amount of what used to be me —the quiet days with no life sparkling with curiosity— not even the basic breath that makes us move easily
I fear such days, love—so much —that I fool myself into thinking that I was full and happy even through those days when I am young, hopeless, and empty
