As if someone had locked it away in the back of my mind,
thrown away the key into a pile of forgotten rust.
Will I ever find it again?
Dear god, if he does live to exist, I hope it finds its way back to me;
for I yearn,
weep away restless nights,
wishing to find the right words
once again.
YOU ARE READING
yesterday's news.
Poetryxviii, april. (iv). gravestones as empty as the bodies buried beneath them. © playlist poetry
