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I've spun your brown hair
in circles

around an eclectic index finger
searching for comfort,

feeling your roots sprout outwardly
as you lay there smiling,

I’ve forgotten what the sun
tastes like in your absence,

talking to birds through
broken chirps and whistles,

I seem to lose my mind
without validation,

and grow antlers from
my head that connect

undiscovered constellations
at different angles

from the nose up,

so I pinch myself to
confirm if I'm still dreaming,

and scream to prove
that I'm still alive,

as you grow from
compromise,

while I create
to convince myself

that perhaps I was
once sane

before the wisdom
kicked in.