i can't get used to this tragedy
the ball thrown back from one hand to another morphed into insults
and every throw was one wind gust swaying at the love my parents had for each other
where they ever in love? the playground built on the bottom of my endless heart
and with the pressure swaying underneath it, the blood gushes out in a river of sorrow
blurting out random words, but none of them can sip the blood, can they?
hiding the observation of their kid closing their eyes and screaming into the endless air
maybe a single atom cared at that moment, but the moment is long gone
because when I pack my bags and run into the rainbow at mach speed
the clouds avoiding the treasure I laid on my bed, scorpions surrounding it
every moment slips out of my hand, like how sand used to on that
deep dark playground now filled with black roses covering the swings
oh to play family with the strangers I met that night again
and once and for all, I fly by my school roof
soaring above all the students, untouchable
YOU ARE READING
life is still going on
Poetrya book which you might relate to written eloquently with my limited vocabulary a book where the feelings i didn't know i felt were translated into habits and now will be written into words. because that's communication for me.
