The wind blows peacefully,
The smaoke and the fire,
So beautifully warm.
The village all nice,
All clean and precise.
Little boys playing,
And little girls laughing.
Our hero walks confused,
In clothes that aren't his own.
Passing faces that are barely recognisable
The sun rises from the east,
The boy searches his pockets,
Hunger takes him into the village.
Confusion leads him to isolation,
Trying to wrack his brain for memories,
Anything at all.
Clues circle his head,
Missing pieces of the jigsaw,
Muddled up people,
And overturned stones,
That make no sense.
Sat on the pavement,
Cold, confused and alone,
His withdrawal gone,
His mind painfully calm.
It hurts, its empty,
What more can he do?
YOU ARE READING
Sertraline
PoetryHUGE TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS ONE - Themes include: Drug Use and Overdose, Suicide and Depression, Self-harm and Abuse. [PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION]
