I don’t want to burden anyone with the weight of love anymore.
Caring for a minimum of 18 people a day does not allow much left to give.
How could I be anything but too much and not enough simultaneously?
How would I be anything more than Saturnine the days I should have slept more?
I’d love to be a second sun instead, leaving beams for reflection instead of all this lead swirled with flammable gases.
But it’s winter in my marrow sometimes, instead of some light to fade the rain.
And all of my words trying to sustain life before the rings of my discontent cost me all of it, forever.
Maybe I just need someone to hibernate with during the right seasons.