Mentaal voorbereid
Everyone is waiting,
but the fire has escaped.
The dents between my shoulder blades
keep me standing on grenades.
Everyone is marching,
but the street is cracking up.
These dusty tears inside my eyes
have made me lose my sight.
Everyone is flying,
but the fuel burns more fires.
These chemicals inside my lungs
I'm not breathing right but wrong.
These burdens, I'm all of them.
Keep marching, hit the drum.
They slow us down, these burdens
I'm all of them, I'm all of them.
11:12 17/3/17
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YOU ARE READING
The Puppeteer's Playground
PoetryWhere the hands have taken over, the place we're calling home. Poems about what matters and what doesn't, to whoever and whatever. Poetry book ||| Cover by me
