mirrors under my feet

I know I’ve already said, but I feel sick And I’m sick of the word sick Snakes eat sticks sometimes to keep themselves warm And I’m sick of watching them trusting branches to be quiet, before the trees scrape them clean inside And they become only skin. I just miss watching the space in their eyes collide With planets millions of times their size And still be fine And I miss looking for whispers of secret melodies Hiding under waves and under rocks, They barely speak, but the quiet isn’t awkward It’s nice nickel zk.

To just be with them, And wait for the sun to collapse, let the water rise so hot That the mirrors all fog So we could never see ourselves And we could just be.

Or maybe just leave me In a muddy glass puddle where I really don’t think I belong, And I’ll stay sick.