Summer, thinks she knows all there is to know
Winter comes, her flowers are ripped from the ground
Thunder booms and takes her life away
Through it, she's okay
Or is she just numb?
No, she's happy, that's not okay
Arid, dry mist, dust storms in her face
Hopes to fly away
Afraid she'll like it
Drill into her, to her brains, wash them out
She takes her paws and lifts them to the moon
Hope that spring'll come soon
YOU ARE READING
Feeling Too Much
PoetrySongs and poetry I write when I'm at risk of feeling numb. I also read books, make origami, play Transformice, or eat. Here's my writing though.
