I wake up to find

Broken glass on the floor

Like the sunrise has snapped the sky

So I pray

The storm won't be hungry for more.

But every day

More cracks appear

Webs and spiders crawl into my fears

I start to see through wary eyes

And in my mind, like autopilot

I measure the distance

Between each action and the chance

It'll lead to rain.

I'm forced to keep the act together

Use my fingers, dipped in sticky glue

To make others believe this illusion

My constant delusion

That everything is okay when it's not.

In the end

We crawl into bed

Our tempers and happiness fed

Stuffed with fate

Pretending not to hate

(But do we?)

The soft words that pass between our lips

Like moth wings

Enchanted

By the fire that'll scorch us all.

The morning of writing this poem, I literally woke up to find apples being smashed into the floor. sighs  Sometimes I just wonder about the state of the world and how it came to this.