July 05, 2024
Dear ghost,
I puked the pile of dirt rotting in me. I gutted out the frustration festering in me. It smelt of foul play, of all things adult lied about and I lied about. Even when I sighed and looked at the sky, I only saw the broken sky. Even as I weep and run, I can never escape this treachery. This treason of maturity and self, feels like submerging in the swamp. Like my air was stolen from me. I number their wrongs and count mine. The sky is broken, the rain cannot reach me. I have lost it. I have lost it. You won, I lost.
Now...
go away.
Yours even as I fear to be.
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