In a cold city where candles are the only source of heat,
I breathe in this cloudy night and choke on the moon.
It is best to remain silent and not harbour this guilt
for actually feeling sad and holding up my white flag.

Tears that used to quench a sorrow have become fuel in the flame.
I can see hope like a dangling carrot, translucent and taunting.
Every emotion rises up like two hands and hangs on to my throat.
Each night I go to bed on a hard cushion of needles and pins.

But then,
I close my eyes and speak to the only one who can actually change me.
I close my eyes as tight as I can,
Clasp my hands as firm as I can,
I pray.
Please stop my heart from aching.
Please stop my mind from racing.
Please make me smile.
Please make me breathe without gasping.
Please help me piece back together this broken vase.
Please let me sleep peacefully.
Please.

In this city where the air feels like a mockery,
where lights illuminate inadequacy,
I sigh because I'm tired but hold on because I know to wait.
I can smile because I know I am being carried
that my tears are being soaked and not dropping to the floor.
Many voices are making requests for me
and I know they are being heard.

Holding up my white flag.