I can see the trees
Hills covered in shadows
Across the reservoir
I see another city
Most likely have been there
Most likely a ghost town
I still go to see what's left of it
Cause I can't leave it all, now
I traverse the subways
Having bad days
& still end up on a new block
Making my way to new place
See a new face
That I'm in tryna trust in the nighttime
Central Park in dark
I stay
Just to see if everything would feel the same
As when we were
Running around
Pants on the ground
Love getting spilled
As people do see it
& I can believe if I'm just fucking drunk
& thinking about the past times
YOU ARE READING
War, in Parts of Four
PoesieA series of poetry written in a time of turmoil and confusion about said turmoil and confusion. From Nostalgia to War. From War to Trauma. From Trauma to Acceptance.
