I long for the days, the cold days when the smoke from my dimly lit cigarette numbs the tips of my fingers.
I long for the clouds, the heavy clouds which carry my worries and meddle them with the raindrops which dirt my face.
I long for the grass, the untamed grass which caresses my scars and blows in my ear that someday, I'll join it in the ground.
I long for the day, the forsaken day I'll be one voice and the rest of them will find vacancy in another body.
Because I'm disassembled and disheveled, bouncing in the four walls that keep me from reaching for the clouds, the grass and time, the time which has seized existing since the moment I first breathed.
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Lighthouse
PoetryA lighthouse is your only hope in the vast ocean and you can only hope the crashing waves won't tear it apart. Poems that I wrote in order to live. Each photo that is accompanying each poem is mine, representing memories which go back years. © Alex...
