Can't Leave

As seasons change and my mind rearranges the order of what holds true

I become more deranged but also more accepting of how to turn my black to blue.

Every single morning I cry so hard that I wish for only you

I miss the part where I focus outward and create my art as the glue

The adhesive that binds all the tragedy to motion forward emotion spewing out as I look toward

Another day I struggle to make

All the trauma in my head go away

By fixing and crafting when all I need to do is get out of my own way.

So do I write?

Or do I breathe?