Sunrise

Written by Flynn Boyd

The sun rose and fell the same day as I was born, just as it had every day before, and likely every day after. The moon rose and grinned before sinking back down, like how it will continue to do until the inevitable end. So I get up, I go to bed, I get up. I repeat this until I no longer get back up, until I no longer look up at my bright eyed mother. I won’t see the mobile above my head, I’ll see the wood. I won’t hear an alarm, I’ll hear the bugs eating my skin. I won’t smell the breakfast being cooked, I’ll smell the rot of my body deteriorating. Yet, the moon will still rise, the sun will still set, but I won’t be getting back up with it.