I dreamed a lot of death,
falling down to never rise again.
I wondered if I would make more friends
if I came back in the fall.
I dreamed a lot of lost limbs,
walking on crutches, a hook for a hand.
I wondered if teachers would feel pity,
if I would finally be noticed.
I dreamed a lot of injury,
losing blood and broken bones.
I wondered if I were in a pale bed,
if I would get lots of visitors.
I dreamed a lot of dying,
fading away into the most terrifying abyss.
I wondered if anyone would grieve,
if anyone would feel the loss.
YOU ARE READING
Foreign Heart - A Poetry Collection
PoetryEmotions continue to perplex me, and this is me simply trying my hardest to understand where they come from and what they mean.
