Chemicals
My mind makes chemicals.
Drops of sap from a tree.
Don’t turn into a butterfly.
Yet, is nourishing.
Chemicals are what make the days.
The people around me.
Things we have in common.
Things I don’t have.
Days.
Never feel the same way again.
Just a wisp.
Feelings are chemicals too.
Which will always collide.
Into hope or patience.
Or when you sleep in late for no reason at all.
My mind makes chemicals.
Leaving behind residue.
And friendships.
And freshly made days.
I think Sunday is when,
I am most happy.
I don’t know why.
Just ask the chemicals.
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