There are pink indentations on my thighs like rivers carving through canyons from sitting in this chair too long
My hands hurt so much with an itchy sad pain like how sun feels on too much skin because I write too much poetry
I write so much poetry to make up for all the things people keep inside their selves like bombs that might explode if let go
I can barely breath in the way that I'm drowning underwater with fish circling my head because with so much in my mind I forget a lot of things
I forget everything
YOU ARE READING
Lured By Life
Poetryso you cry and wonder if red lights really mean stop or if its time to cross the bright highways and be caressed by passing cars because maybe then maybe you'd be an explorer
