My New Old Mourning Routine

There are tears mixed into the pancake batter sun is still obfuscated by the window shades without sunshine, I still wind up a morning person Tobacco clings to me, where your scent would be sewn with many memories into the mesh of myself a premature family crest, stained and worn The new day shows only one outcome remains the eggs are runny, my nose sniffles into an arid oasis no sunny side seems to show up these days I wake up to an empty pillow, your space hollow through but I still cannot but help myself from making breakfast for two.