spills out of you,
it will burn as it stumbles
through you like a
drunken ghost.
When the truth
comes out of hiding,
you’ll dream about Her
for three weeks straight.
When the truth
tiptoes out of your mouth,
there will be a war
between your skin and flesh,
and it won’t be beautiful
like you thought it would be.
When the truth
reveals himself
in your eyes,
there will be chaos
in the blue, the
red, the grey.
When the truth
settles into your bones,
when the earthquakes finally
stop shaking your heart empty,
you will be left with
the aftershock.
This is the aftermath.
The lullabies you sing
under your breath to help yourself fall asleep.
The moving on.
The heavy,
heavy price that comes
with knowing.
Anthea Yang/ constellations from home
