I’ve seen a piece of heaven before.
It’s a bridge high above cold water.

I go when I’m a desperate disaster
in the early hours of the morning.

It was quiet. I was alone.
My fears weren’t awake or aware of me yet.
I wouldn’t be missed.

The portal is only open in the morning,
but at night, it is the netherworld—
smoke rising from obsidian.

But in the early hours,
it’s a mirror to the sky,
clouds to fall into.But when the joggers passed by,
I became ashamed.