She is so pretentious,
an actress in a red dress,chugging wine from the bottle.
She likes to believe what she wishes,
that she's all alright,
that she doesn't feel like dying,
that she doesn't feel like running away.
I could run a hundred miles and more,
to meet her in the backyard.
Kiss her neck from behind,
let our shadows linger away from our parents.
And we would wander by the archways,
or somewhere she'd feel less like fading.
All these wishes and dreams
brings me back to reality.
Wondering what you are up to,
especially after the news tonight.
To which object you would rent to,
to which ghost you would cry out to.
Why can't you stay?
Why can't I stay?
YOU ARE READING
OLD FILMS IN POETRIES
PoetryIt's a film in poetry─A little lively,a little sad,a little death,a little pleasure,a little desire and wishes,a little rest and a little nurturing.
