Blanket

I push back against the
morning because the
truth has never hit me
so hard before, and I'm
tired of soaking the pillow
case, and I'm running out
of Kleenex. I shove yesterday
out with the fleece blanket,
pulling it over my head to
be covered by you, praying
for the ability to wake up,
praying for the strength to
remember, praying for you
to know how little I want to
live like this, and my chest
aches right in the middle.
I tore it open as you walked
away and let you steal the
most precious thing I have
to give, and now I don't
walk around with life in me.
It is only grace that keeps me
breathing, only mercy that keeps
me upright, and only forgiveness
that pushes me to hope.

And I am awake.