others among us

there are bones in my body aching to be broken
and my idle hands are looking for a playground 
but i am too far gone to handcuff my hands 
and save me from myself

if i pick off enough layers of skin
i might shed my sadness 
and finally be able to walk among the marigolds in full bloom
without feeling like a stranger to the sun

and it would be absolutely lovely
to wash the moon’s blood off my hands

most days feel like the bruises on my thighs
but sometimes sundays are just a paper cut
instead of a scrape 
they say that is getting better
but what if i am just falling from lower heights

if i close my ears
and quiet my heart
i can see others looking for light

i am glad i am not the only one with moths inside my head