Typically, I don’t fall.
I can’t stand
the way dirt
feels on my knees.
Is it completely ridiculous—
that despite barely
knowing you—
when my heart fell,
it fell hard?
And goddammit,
it has yet
to get back up.
So, I cry
these tears
to soften the blow,
turning the dirt
into mud.
And now,
I have a pad
to plead
and beg
and scream
upon,
while I’m
on my knees
like a fool
without a prayer.