Stepping on my last train, leaving a blood sting,
Running as a river, leaving as my father,
The shameful routine, my ache runs as water,
At your old party with drunk guys, you might sing.
You welcomed the new pages,
On the heavy door, there where my cozy touch came,
All of them think of me as if I'm high or lame.
Warm as the sun in September,
Light and treated me like a lady more than I remember.
I hate that I break everything that I love,
Being known among the chiaroscuro above.
Every woman you knew, and every man I knew brought us here.
It started with a usual sting, then it ended like a new father.
YOU ARE READING
Beyond The Glass
PoetryPutting poetry and prose on a glasses, A time passes, The scar built gashes, a sake of my health drew ashes, This poetry talks about the glasses, and my Cancer journey.
