[14] - monday's child.

「 defeat. 」

je te laisserai des mots, ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ᴡᴀᴛꜱᴏɴ, 00.28

it is such a gloomy day;

the foliage contrasts the late morning grey.

crickets echo round the field's lonely oval;

compared to the earth, my sorrows seem so trivial.

i sit on mossy rock, where ivy runs through;

minuscule raindrops soak my ink and my paper, too.

i feel so helpless, so utterly helpless;

i'm tired of hearing what everyone has to say,

the rain falls harder, my body gives a shudder;

thinking of home only makes me sadder.

i abhor so much about this cruel, cruel world;

yet it's so heart-wrenchingly beautiful, isn't it absurd?

i miss the painful relief of steel against bronze;

i hate the promise to stay clean for the rest of my months.

i feel like a failure, i feel so alone;

running up a hill rolling my burdens with a stone.

it feels so unfair; have i been robbed of emotion?

my tears have dried for so, so long.