My eyes close on a good day
and a verse writes itself,
turn on the water in the shower
and by the end I’ve written a page
But tonight, under the dull stars
nearing March, my mind
as cluttered as the sky
can only hear words get stuck
as my eyelids touch my under-eye
Mistrust is now normalcy
and instead of asking why
I wish they could see
who made these eyes cry
Cause it might be cluttered
but my mind’s still running
and written on its corners
are their names all over.